


Deliverance

by vaginawig



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Lesbian Character, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Canon Related, Clexa, F/F, Fanfic, Fanfiction, Femslash, Post-Season/Series 03, The 100 - Freeform, The 100 Femslash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-01 04:04:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4005202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaginawig/pseuds/vaginawig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In post-apocalyptic America, the last of humanity is not just fighting to survive, they are fighting not to repeat the mistakes of their ancestors.  Lexa has put aside her pride and seeks redemption in the form of offered protection. Clarke is struggling to reconcile what she had to do with what's right, and everyone is struggling to trust. Can they overcome what's happened and find peace in an uncertain future? It's unlikely, but dangers loom that no one has foreseen. Pride, loss, and an unlikely love will unwittingly shape the outcome. </p><p>This is a fanon, season 3 fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Modern Myths

**Author's Note:**

> This work of fiction is based off of the television show, _The 100_ , and as such I will use aspects of the show. I also use lines from some of my favorite songs and literature. In those cases, all rights are reserved to the appropriate, respective parties as there is no infringement intended. However, this story is mine, and no element can be used, copied, downloaded, or shared in any way, shape, or form without my express, written consent.
> 
> This story contains material that is mature in theme and content. If you are under 18 years of age or homosexuality is illegal where you live, please do not read.
> 
> All my fic, including other fandoms, is available on my [blog](https://fictionforlesbians.wordpress.com/). You can also follow me on [Tumblr](https://fictionforlesbians.tumblr.com/), [Twitter](https://twitter.com/vaginawig1/), and email me through vaginawig@yahoo.com. **Please leave lots of feedback, especially if it's constructively critical. I write because I love it, but I post because I wish to get better. Your thoughts are invaluable to me!**

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the things that we do, the choices that we have to make, supersede our own understanding of the world. And we want to be able to say that we didn’t have any other option, that we were just trying to do the right thing, that we were just trying to protect, to survive.
> 
> We want that clarity of conscience so that we can close our eyes without being haunted.
> 
> We want to be able to sleep at night.
> 
> We just want to believe that the terrible things that happen have a reason.

Sometimes the things that we do, the choices that we have to make, supersede our own understanding of the world. And we want to be able to say that we didn't have any other option, that we were just trying to do the right thing, that we were just trying to protect, to survive.

We want that clarity of conscience so that we can close our eyes without being haunted.

We want to be able to sleep at night.

We just want to believe that the terrible things that happen have a reason.

For all that has changed in human history, these things still hold true, whether you're a Grounder - a savage like those who survived the irradiated earth's surface; a Mountain Man - an aristocrat like those stealing life within the fortress of their bunker; or a Sky Person - placed somewhere in between the two like those who fell from the stars.

These needs, these wants, unite all of these factions in a common imperative, even as they are the very reasons that they cannot seem to survive at all, at least not together. The harsh reality is that for some to survive, others must die. And it's not because it actually has to be that way.

It's a choice.

But when you can't control others' actions, you are left one inevitable conclusion: at the end of the day, no matter what, Death will have his quota.

So you try to find a way around it. You unite some in peace, make a choice to try and stop the bloodshed, and still people die. You kill some to stop them from killing others, and still people die. And what makes it worse is that when you make these terrible decisions, not only are you responsible for any resulting deaths, but you have to find a way to compartmentalize the fact that you placed more value on one life over another.

Sure, there were reasons or excuses, but when the bodies fall, the truth of the matter is that you were just relieved that they weren't familiar faces. For all that you wish that you stood for, you just don't want to lose your own.

You are selfish.

You are biased.

You are a killer.

Because you are human.

At least Death is indiscriminate in whom he claims.

But you are merely a murderer, picking and choosing in cold blood for one reason or another. And oddly enough, that is the very reason that you're the Commander, or the President, or the Chancellor. Your people look to you, Killer, so that they don't have to live with the weight of the very world on their shoulders.

You make these choices so that they don't have to.

They get to sleep at night because you never will again.

How do you live with that?

If you're the Commander of the Grounders, a proud Trikru, you wrap your heart in steel. You worship logic over feeling and fear over love. You satisfy your brain before your heart and value a bloody blade over a kind word. You hold to one singular belief: the survival of your people comes first. And in the process, you lose your heart altogether.

If you're the President of the Mountain Men, you place your heart in a fanciful box and set it as the crowning jewel in your limitless collection of beautiful baubles. And you focus on those things of beauty so that you don't have to see the monstrosity that you've become. You tell yourself that it's there and you'll take it out again when you've reached the ground where you can then wear it on your lapel like a wilted corsage. Until then, you hold to one singular belief: you will see the sky and smell the flowers again, and you will survive it at any cost.

If you're the Chancellor of the Sky People, the Skaikru, you are torn, your heart constantly bleeding as you try and fail. You hate what you're becoming and feel powerless to stop it. You can only hold the battered organ in your hand and stare at it, try to remember that it's real, try desperately to find a safe place to keep it in a world completely devoid of safety. You hold to one singular belief: there has to be a better way to survive, but you will survive.

What else can you do as a leader?

What else can you do when the one thing that is needed most in the world is a modern myth?

Where is peace?

Where is safety?

For Clarke Griffin, the unlikely Chancellor of the Sky People, there was nothing more to be done. Despite incredible odds and a betrayal of both heart and mind, she got her people home safely, but it was at the cost of her very own soul.

Somehow, she still brought the Mountain Men to their knees, and with nothing more than the flick of her wrist. One enemy was lost but another was gained, and it was inside of her. She murdered some, she saved others, but the moral of her actions was not lost on her.

She realized that she is no better than those that she'd destroyed so easily. She also knew that for some reason, she got to survive. She just didn't understand why. If she was no better than her enemy, and of this she had no doubt, why did her life matter more?

"Maybe there are no good-guys," her mother's words resounded in her head.

Abby, the good doctor, the should-be Chancellor, had shown faith in her daughter. She had stepped aside to give Clarke the power that she needed to make peace so that she could then make war. After all, it was considered a righteous war. She may have even believed those words when she'd said them. Clarke certainly thought so. But Clarke also knew that her mother now saw a monster where her daughter once stood.

If her own mother couldn't look her in the eye, couldn't forgive her, how much less should she be able to see herself, to forgive herself?

Forgive...

Clarke realized that it is a hollow word, a dream, a farce. She had sat in judgment of others despite what she was capable of because there was no such thing as forgiveness, not really.

First, she hated Wells for the senseless death of her father, and she couldn't let that go, not until she learned that it was her own mother's betrayal that had opened that airlock and floated the man. And even after Wells had tried to make it right, he had to die for the crimes of his own father.

Then she focused her hatred on her mother, whom she still can't fully forgive, the same mother who currently sits in judgment of her daughter. But who is she to say that what Clarke did was wrong when she knowingly murdered her own husband?

And Finn...

At the start, when they'd been unforgivingly thrown to the ground, he had given Clarke hope. She had seen him hold onto his humanity and his compassion, fighting for a common good. But because of her, he became so lost that he'd slaughtered an entire village of Trikru. Like her mother, Clarke couldn't look at him the same. But that wasn't the worst of it: she drove a knife into Finn's stomach, and then had the audacity to call it kindness, because the Trikru want blood for blood, because there is no forgiveness.

Clarke became just like Finn, only worse; she became like Lexa, commander of the Grounders. She became hard and calloused, cold and calculating. She became a traitor, not just of her alliances but her very own soul. She lost her humanity to the will to survive, and then realized that if her humanity was the cost, she just didn't see the point in surviving anymore.

So she left her people. For days she ate next to nothing. She walked until exhaustion claimed her. She had nowhere in mind; she only knew that anywhere was better than here, and here was everywhere.

She had no fight left in her, no pride either. If she fell, she'd crawl until unconsciousness relieved her. When injured, she'd let it bleed. She was helpless in the face of her own thoughts, her own inability to forgive, not just others, but herself. Her heart had been left at a vault door of a mountainous tomb, this same place where betrayal masked as survival stole the last of her innocence.

"Clarke."

She would know that voice anywhere, even from within the murky depths of her torment. It is toneless, void, and uncaring, just like the eyes of its wearer, eyes that she could never forget.

"I do care, Clarke. But I made this choice with my head, not my heart."

Lexa had lied. She'd left Clarke to die. She'd left Clarke's people to die. She'd betrayed Clarke with a kiss...

"The mountain has cast a shadow over these woods for too long! They've hunted us, controlled us, turned us into monsters..."

Clarke understands that not everything out of Lexa's mouth had been a lie, but then the world becomes a scalding landscape of raw nerves. She cries out and chokes on it, maybe because of the pain or maybe because of the shame.

Clarke knows that Lexa is a monster, but she has become one too. She knows that she deserves this pain, they both do.

But Lexa is not in pain. Lexa feels nothing. Clarke's breathing is shallow as her eyes search the commander's face for something she can't find, something that she wishes she didn't feel. And she believes that maybe she sees the commander because like the pain shooting through her body, she deserves to be haunted.

"We're not so different, you and I," Clarke mutters before her head rolls to the side and she is lost to unconsciousness.

"Commander, she's still feverish, but she's starting to come to. I believe she'll be able to keep the leg."

"Good," Lexa gazes down on her quarry, her expression inscrutable. "Keep her under watch. We can't afford to underestimate her again."

"Yes, Commander."

Lexa strides to the skins hanging over the doorway and looks back. There is no emotion or worry, but her eyes linger on the girl.

"And, Nyko…"

The large, brutish man turns to his commander, a wiry wisp of a girl that he obeys without question. He gives her his full attention though she does not deign to do the same. No, her vacant eyes don't leave the girl on the table, even as she gives a final command.

"She is not to be harmed."

He nods, and of course he will obey, even when he knows that the Skaikru - specifically this girl, this Clarke - will bring death upon them all. But he turns back to his charge without a word, and Lexa's eyes linger for a moment longer before she leaves the hut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please be sure to rate and leave feedback before moving on.**
> 
> **All my fic, including other fandoms, is available on my[blog](https://fictionforlesbians.wordpress.com/). You can follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/vaginawig1/), [Tumblr](https://fictionforlesbians.tumblr.com/), and email me via vaginawig@yahoo.com.**


	2. Innocence Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Innocence does not die quietly. It does not die peacefully. But in this world, it always dies. It is inevitable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **See chapter 1 for disclaimers.**
> 
> **All my fic, including other fandoms, is available on my[blog](https://fictionforlesbians.wordpress.com/). You can also follow me on [Tumblr](https://fictionforlesbians.tumblr.com/), [Twitter](https://twitter.com/vaginawig1/), and email me through vaginawig@yahoo.com.**
> 
> **Please leave lots of feedback, especially if it's constructively critical. I write because I love it, but I post because I wish to get better. Your thoughts are invaluable to me!**

The forest has been Lexa's home for the whole of her life. For her people, it is the very source of life. It provides shelter, food, water, medicine, and clothing. She learned this at a very young age. Knowledge of the forest is as much a part of her people as their braids, their tattoos, their fierceness in battle, and their loyalty to one another.

For her people, there is no such thing as youth or childhood; there is only survival or death. The Trikru are born into responsibility. It can be daunting, overwhelming, but it is necessary. But for Lexa, as she grew, as she learned, as she thrived, she began to find solace amongst the trees. They became more than just her home and her livelihood, they became her sanctuary.

And as such, when she finds herself in need of quiet, in need of calm, in need of clear-headedness, it is not uncommon for her to take to the forest, to seek out a friend that is just as implacable and honest as she is. And this day, as she puzzles over the current situation of her people, is no exception.

The Mountain Men are gone, completely obliterated, and it's all because of Clarke.

This in and of itself is not what concerns her. In fact, she respects that Clarke was able to accomplish something that her people never could. She is also thankful that the threat of the Mountain Men is no longer hanging over her people like a sword ready to drop at any moment.

However, she is having a difficult time determining if she had misread her alliances and the inherent dangers associated with choosing the Mountain Men over the Sky People.

It had seemed the only logical choice.

She had known that the Sky People were dangerous from the moment that they had fallen to the ground. They were loud, disrespectful of the forest, disrespectful of one another, and disrespectful of the Trikru. Anya's scouts had reported many occasions where they killed one another without cause and killed her own people for rightly trying to remove the threat from their home.

They were like children, lacking discipline, diplomacy, and skill. They lacked a leader, and as such, they seemed to lack purpose. Without purpose, Lexa had known that their days were numbered. It was only a matter of time before the Reapers, the Mountain Men, her warriors, or exposure claimed them.

But the Mountain Men did not lack purpose or skill. They were powerful and they knew how to survive. She knew what they were capable of. Unlike the Sky People, they were not weak. They were cunning, organized, and ruthless. How many of her people had been lost to the monstrous capabilities of the Red? How many more viciously bled for immunization or doused in a burning blanket of acid fog?

The Mountain Men were the real threat, the more important threat. If nothing else, with the help of the Sky People, she might finally lead her people to an end of their oppression. So she united with the Sky People, the lesser enemy, to conquer the most powerful among them, the Mountain Men.

And it would have worked. She is sure of that. She can find no error in joining with Clarke and her people. That isn't her predicament. Her predicament now lay in her betrayal, her decision to take the offer presented to her by the Mountain Men.

It had been a cogent offer. They would release her people and stop making Reapers. In return, she would stand down and call her people to retreat, leaving the Sky People to their fate. It was a harsh move, a calculated move, but it had given her the ability to not only save her people inside, but also save them from a war that had been raging for years and further decimating their numbers.

Yes, it meant the destruction of some of the Sky People, of Clarke's emotions, but they were not her concern. They couldn’t be. Her loyalties would always be with her people. It had to be that way. She was their Heda, chosen to protect them at all costs, especially personal ones.

That did not mean that she desired to hurt Clarke. It was quite the opposite. She relished her time with the girl. But the truth of the matter is that she and Clarke are different, separated by the chasm of birth and survival.

And survival is everything. So Lexa accepted; she took the offer given her by the Mountain Men, knowing that it would eliminate all threats. But she had underestimated the Sky People, Clarke specifically.

Lexa had resigned herself to the fact that the Sky People would not survive. That had been determined the very moment that they had landed. With them gone, and the Mountain Men no longer hunting her people, she would secure safety for the future of the twelve clans.

But the Sky People had not died, and it was all because of Clarke. It seemed to Lexa that everything always came back to Clarke, and she understood why.

Clarke had an enigmatic quality to her. Lexa had experienced it herself on numerous occasions. She was... surprising. Lexa would often catch herself taken off guard by the things that Clarke would say and do. Clarke challenged her and that challenge made her feel… just feel. The Sky People had been drawn to Clarke's leadership, and Lexa had been drawn as well.

She did not like the choices that had been presented her, but unlike Clarke, she was able to make decisions for the good of her people regardless of the cost. That is how she should be, how she has to be, because life depends on it.

But she had been wrong about Clarke. She had known that the ability to be a great leader was there, but when she had taken the Mountain Man's offer, she had believed that Clarke wasn't ready to do what must be done. She had not counted on the fact that whether Clarke was ready or not, she would do it anyway. She had not counted on the fact that Clarke would succeed.

And now, she has created an enemy who's proven capable of destroying the strongest of them all, doing the very thing that the Trikru had never been able to do. Clarke has proven that she is not only stronger than the Mountain Men, but in turn, stronger than the Trikru.

With thoughts such as these, the trees do not hold much comfort or solitude for her today. She has been biding her time in the forest while the tracker's circles narrow in on her. She knows that her time is limited and that she must find the strength to do what must be done.

She jumps and pulls herself up onto a large, overhanging branch and quietly waits. She is not sure if this person is friend or foe, but then friends sometimes make the worst of foes anyway. That is what it means to be strong, at least to her people. It is strange to think that it’s that very strength that destroyed Clarke. Lexa’s scouts had been tracking her for days, watching and waiting for any sign that the Sky People would seek retribution. But from what they’d described, she was not a threat to anyone but herself.

So Lexa had gone to see for herself, and what she saw she knew all too well. She felt Clarke’s loss because she knew it. Innocence does not die quietly. It does not die peacefully. But in this world, it always dies. It is inevitable. And Clarke was bleeding hers onto the forest floor, looking for that solitude that Lexa finds among her woodland friends and foes.

Lexa went through this herself, though anyone looking in had never been any the wiser. That was the cost of leadership. It still hurt, it still destroyed, but the luxury of allowing herself to feel it wasn’t afforded. She envied Clarke as she looked in on her, despite the fact that she’d fallen into a ravine of brambles.

At least Clarke was allowed to feel.

She’d collected the girl, and brought her back to TonDC amidst a flurry of worried murmurs and unsolicited council. Lexa already knew what was expected of her, what is still expected of her: she is to kill the girl. For her people, there is no other choice. Surely, the Skaikru want blood for blood. And while they have not yet moved to make war since the unlikely outcome on the mountain, her decision that day intended to deliver them to death.

If the situation were reversed, Lexa would not hesitate to strike at her enemies, and the Sky People would most definitely be labeled enemies for such a betrayal.

But it has been three days since, and they have made no such move. Perhaps, the reason they hold off is lying on the table in the healer’s hut. Perhaps they await their leader to give the order that will thrust them into war because they are too weak to make such a decision for themselves.

Lexa cannot be sure. She only knows that this is a very precarious situation, balanced on the edge of a blade, and any wrong move could be catastrophic for her people. She will not underestimate the Skaikru again.

There is also another situation that Lexa must consider: the Reapers. They have become more feral from the the Red. They have taken to the mountain, using the last of what is left, but it will not be much longer before they run out.

Nyko was confident that he could replicate what he had seen with Lincoln, the very reason they aligned with the Sky People to begin with, but so far, he has failed. They are losing more of their people to withdrawal, and that was the very outcome that Lexa had been trying to avoid.

She needs Clarke's help, but she has made an enemy of her. Killing Clarke not only means that the Reapers will die, but that they will have yet another war on their hands.

Somehow, she must convince Clarke to help her, but she cannot find the words that will inspire trust.

Trust...

Lexa believes this to be a farce, or at least she did, until she met Clarke.

The tracker is upon her now and she draws her dagger, waiting for that first move to break what should be a quiet, peaceful moment in the chaos. But no such attack is forthcoming.

Instead, there is merely a strong voice, one that she knows well, and in a tongue specific to her people

"Heda."

Lexa does not give her attention to Indra, choosing instead to keep her eyes on the misleading calm of the forest for just a moment longer. She needs the lie just now.

"She's awake," Indra continues, and Lexa feels a surge of something indiscernible smolder through her.

Is it relief?

Is it nervousness?

She does not know. She only knows that it doesn’t matter. It will never leave the confines of her chest, because her head will not allow it.

She nods, steeling herself for this confrontation that will determine the future of her clan. She is ready because she has to be, despite the fact that she does not know what the best course of action is. There is no more time to waste with thought. She will either convince the girl or kill her. She has no other option.

Winter is coming. She needs to prepare her people for survival.

She stands and sheathes her dagger, and without another word, the two of them make their way back to TonDC.


	3. Different or Indifference

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Lexa…”
> 
> Lexa stops. The cool indifference that using her title affords Clarke is gone. And now she knows that whatever Clarke is about to say is personal.
> 
> “If you go back on your word, I swear to you, this time, I’ll kill you myself.”
> 
> Lexa closes her eyes and takes a deep breath to still the flurry of apprehension Clarke’s voice inspires. It is cold where it used to be so warm. But she can expect no less given the circumstances, and she can offer no more for the same reasons.
> 
> It only takes a moment, years of practice coming to the forefront and shutting her heart away. She looks at Clarke over her shoulder and nods once before stepping out of the hut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **See chapter 1 for disclaimers.**
> 
> All my fic, including other fandoms, is available on my [blog](https://fictionforlesbians.wordpress.com/). You can also follow me on [Tumblr](https://fictionforlesbians.tumblr.com/), [Twitter](https://twitter.com/vaginawig1/), and email me through vaginawig@yahoo.com.
> 
> **Please leave lots of feedback, especially if it's constructively critical. I write because I love it, but I post because I wish to get better. Your thoughts are invaluable to me!**

Clarke wasn't feeling well at all. Her head was throbbing, her stomach sour, and she would swing from feeling unreasonably warm to being chilled to the bone within minutes. But none of these things had stopped her from immediately trying to escape the moment that she’d awoken and realized where she was.

TonDC.

She never thought that she'd see it again but from afar. It was a place of loss for her, and in so many ways. This was the place that her downward spiral began. This was the mass grave that she’d created the day that she allowed Lexa to lead her away from the missile screaming towards them, abandoning innocents to a gory fate.

And because she allowed it, this place was haunted. If she closed her eyes she could still see innocent lives flailing and writhing in the flames; she could still hear their anguished cries, still smell the stench of their death as they were utterly consumed.

But even all of that was not her greatest discomfort. It wasn’t just where she was that unsettled her, but whom she was with.

Lexa...

She’s a woman who defies explanation, someone fierce and powerful, yet somehow comforting and safe. It was all of these things that drew Clarke in only to leave her shattered against a wall of indifference.

And she could not bear to see her, to live it all over again, to feel so much in the face of so little.

So she'd bolted from the table, surprising Nyko and two other guards, her head swimming and stomach revolting. And she would have been unstoppable, so animalistic was her intent to leave, were it not for her leg. Instead she'd crumbled to the floor, the limb a traitor leaving her to what she knew would be a hideous end.

That had seemed to be a recurring theme in her life since the fall to the ground.

Weakened and crippled, she'd been lifted, placed back on the table, and warned that if she didn't stay off of her leg, she'd lose it. But she couldn't help but wonder why that mattered. She couldn’t understand what use a leg could be to her when she was condemned.

And that’s where she finds herself now, hands bound, body broken, waiting for the bringer of her death from the table of a healer’s tent no less. She finds this ironic, mostly senseless, but then she knows that these people don’t do senseless things.

She watches Nyko quietly work in the corner. He is a stoic man, his face stern as he grinds herbs and moss in a makeshift mortar and pestle. She can’t help but wonder why her captors, as a people, are so severe, so unmoved by the loss of life.

Of course survival is critical; there is nothing about this world that makes surviving easy. Threats loom around every corner, whether from rival factions or nature itself. Something is always looking to destroy something else so that it can live. She understands the need to be stronger than any threat.

But in her time with these people, she’s never heard a laugh, not even from a child. Rarely has she seen a smile or an open display of affection. It’s seen as weakness. Lexa had said as much, but then nothing that Lexa said was ever as it seemed.

She knows that the affection is there. She’s seen it in the way that they fight and bleed and die for one another, in the way that they work together for their common goals without complaint, envy, or malice.

She’s seen it in piercing, war-painted eyes, and heard it in profound declarations masked as simple truths. She’s felt it in a calloused but gentle touch to her face and lips that were tainted with perfidy. But she does not understand why they hide it, why they lie about it, why for all that they’re capable of, they cannot show some compassion and mercy.

“What does she plan to do with me,” she asks him, hoping that her theory is true, that a savior lurks somewhere beneath the battle-worn exterior.

The brutish man pauses in his work, but he does not give her his attention. He does not wish to engage her. But if he were to answer honestly, he would tell her that he does not know what the Heda has planned. He only knows that he trusts her implicitly. But then explaining this to the girl would be a waste of his words. The Sky People do not understand the ways of the Trikru. They’ve proven that they cannot understand what it means to sacrifice.

So he continues his work, ignoring her question, and the insult of his denial is not lost on Clarke.

The flaps over the door are thrown back and Indra enters the small space, her very presence nearly filling it with an uncomfortable level of hostility. And Clarke knows that she’s about to get the answers to her questions anyway, because she knows that the next person through that entryway is going to be the last person that she ever wanted to see again. But she will not cower, because, just as these people lack compassion, she does not lack strength.

She slides herself gently but quickly from the table, landing on her good leg and leaning against the sturdy wood for support. Her muscles and nerves protest but she squares her shoulders and holds her head high. It would be easier to train her eyes on the dirt or to just close them and let the world swim, but no, if Lexa plans to kill her, she will have to look Clarke in the eye while she does it.

And then she’s there, tall, strong, beautiful, and deadly. The war-paint and blood of their last encounter has been scrubbed from her face, and Clarke had forgotten just how much it softens her countenance, just how young she looks for someone so immense in charisma.

“Leave us,” the commander demands, her eyes never leaving Clarke.

Nyko and the other guards obey without question, but Indra believes this to be unwise.

“Heda,” she interrupts in their native tongue. “She has killed and escaped befo-”

“I said leave.”

Lexa’s voice is a strangely compelling mix of honey and steel. It brooks no further room for negotiation. And while Indra’s face becomes a mask of outrage and worry, she does what she is told as is expected of her.

They’re alone now, the room somehow smaller as a tense quiet settles over them. Lexa can tell that Clarke is in a great deal of pain, but feels a certain sense of pride in her courage, even as it borders on defiance. And while she does not wish to feel it, there is also a sense of relief coloring her thoughts.

She pulls the dagger from her hip and steps closer to Clarke, pausing just a moment when she sees the girl flinch. She wishes that Clarke would think better of her, though she understands why this is not the case. Mostly, she just wishes that it didn’t sting.

She gets close to Clarke, so close that she can see the flecks of silver that fissure her blue eyes like spiderwebs, and feel the rise and fall of her chest as her breathing becomes labored. But Clarke holds very still, meeting the commander head-on as she reaches behind Clarke to settle the blade between her wrists.

Lexa wishes that she could tell Clarke that she means her no harm, but for all that she is willing to do to save her people, she will not lie to Clarke. The leather snaps and Clarke’s hands ache with a rush of blood and she sways. Lexa lingers for just a moment, concerned that the girl will fall, before reluctantly stepping away.

Clarke wants to collapse against the table and rub at her raw wrists, but she wants to hold onto her dignity more. To show any weakness would be to lose ground in whatever game it is that Lexa wishes to play. She is determined not flinch again. She also will not give Lexa the opportunity to speak first.

“Why have you brought me here,” she asks with strength she doesn't really feel.

Lexa’s brows furrow for a moment. She had not expected Clarke to speak, let alone ask a question that she must surely know the answer to. But then Clarke never does as she expects.

“You were injured,” she answers simply.

Clarke’s eyes rage, the blue so deep that it’s almost black.

“Please don’t insult me, Commander.”

Lexa knows that she should not be affronted by her title. Normally it is something that she wears with pride, but when Clarke says it, it somehow sounds perverse.

“Why have you brought me here,” Clarke tries again, her voice even more defiant, her skin paler as her pride takes its toll on her health.

“You should sit, Clarke.”

“It’s a little late to pretend that you care about my health, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to get this over with. Now, just kill me or let me go.”

Lexa studies Clarke. She knows what she saw in the forest, and what she saw was a warrior struggling to reconcile what she had to do with what she felt was right. She saw a girl who was seeking to atone, and from her own experience she knows that there are only two ways to do that: honor the dead by protecting their people or death.

The way Clarke is behaving now would suggest the former, but Lexa knows the latter lurks somewhere deep within the girl’s bravado. She just doesn’t know where Clarke actually stands.

“Do you wish to die, Clarke?”

Clarke is a little taken aback by that question. She’s not sure if it’s meant as a threat or genuine worry, and Lexa’s implacable demeanor makes it impossible to read between the lines. The truth would be that she doesn’t know what she needs. She’s unsure of how to live with herself but unable to take her life. Even as a child, she abhorred the thought of giving up, especially if it was a lost cause.

She is only certain that she does not wish to give Lexa any satisfaction, especially not that of knowing her heart or taking her life.

“I wish that you’d just get to the point.”

Lexa has always prided herself on being able to read people. She has an innate ability to discern others motivations simply by studying them. Perhaps it is her unassuming appearance. In the right clothes she can become invisible, unknown, considered nothing more than just a girl. But her awareness always lies in her ability to listen without speaking and be calm in the chaos.

Clarke is like a puzzle, each piece more intricate and challenging the further along that Lexa progresses. She fights when she should reconcile and she breaks when she should bend. But the rules are always changing. She reacts one way in a situation, but then another way in a similar situation. It’s as if Lexa cannot step back far enough to see the whole picture so that she can put it together.

Clarke is too large, too contradictory, and it leaves Lexa feeling blind, almost helpless.

Lexa’s options still linger: she will either kill Clarke or enlist her help. But if Clarke wants to die, then she cannot save her. Clarke has to choose for herself. Without the ability to read Clarke, she has no idea which way to broach the subject, to soften Clarke to the overall need of both of their people.

“I’m going to ask you again, why have you brought me here?”

Regardless of what she does or does not know, Lexa is sure of one thing when it comes to Clarke: her heart always wins. If what lies in her heart is a death wish, then she will have it. She hopes that this is not the case, but the least she can do is be direct.

“I need your help, Clarke.”

Clarke is certain that she must have hit her head during the fall. She must be delirious, hearing things due to fever. Maybe Nyko gave her Jobi nuts for pain. Or maybe she’s just finally lost it, because she cannot believe that what she just heard is real.

Unable to hold it in, she laughs hysterically.

If asking for Clarke’s help wasn’t reason enough to cause her to laugh, the reaction on Lexa’s face would have been. It makes Clarke laugh all the harder. Lexa’s just staring at the girl, her normally stoic expression now oddly comical. Clarke wonders idly if Lexa has ever seen someone laugh, or experienced the feeling herself.

And this idle thought saps Clarke’s levity. She finds herself feeling profoundly sad for the commander, because she truly doubts that Lexa’s ever let herself be joyful. The most that she’s ever seen is a small smile, and even those only lasted for a fleeting moment.

“You’re serious,” Clarke says, realizing that these people are always serious.

Lexa has no idea what just happened. She had been tempted to go get Nyko to check on the girl. But whatever the problem was appears to have passed, and she’s left with a question or a statement of fact, she’s not sure.

“Yes. I need your help.”

“How can you even consider asking for my help?”

“Because I do not wish the alternative.”

“And what’s that?”

“If you refuse to help, I will have no choice but to-“

Lexa stops. She does not wish to finish that sentence. She does not wish to live her past all over again. She had not meant to care for Clarke, let alone to love her. She was supposed to live out her days alone, devoid of the types of attachments that would put her in these situations.

But she could not stop it. It was out of her hands. The attachment was there from the moment that Clarke perplexed her. It deeply imbedded itself the moment that Clarke showed how beautiful the conundrum of strength and weakness can be. It became real despite the fact that it never had a chance. But it was undoubtedly love. And love would kill them both.

“You’ll kill me,” Clarke finishes for her.

Lexa simply nods. She recognizes the pain in the girl’s voice, the disbelief, the failure of her heart to grasp what her mind is telling her. Lexa knows that what she has done and will still do is not acceptable to Clarke. It’s not even acceptable to her, but she has no other options. The Sky People are an enemy, and as the commander, she cannot stand an enemy to live, even when that enemy is one of their own making.

The spark, the fire, in Clarke seems to dim. “Was leaving us to the Mountain Men not enough?”

“But I didn’t leave you to the Mountain Men, Clarke.”

And there it is again, this affection that Lexa claims to have for her and has yet to be seen in any real way. And Clarke hates that she wants to see it so desperately. And she hates Lexa because she never will.

“How much a part of you are your people, Commander?”

To Lexa, her people are everything. A Heda has no choice in the matter. She sees that it is no different for Clarke, but there is something that Clarke is failing to understand.

“If the Skaikru inside had been Trikru, I’d have still made the same choice, Clarke.”

“But they weren’t Trikru. They were my friends.”

“And because of that, their lives are more important than hundreds?”

Clarke has no answer for that because she’s ashamed of the truth in that statement. She did value the lives in that Mountain more than those who had and would die getting to them.

“We could have won with you, and we still won without you.”

“As a leader you have a responsibility to weigh the outcome and choose the best possible course for all involved, Clarke.”

“You’re going to lecture me about leadership, again, after everything that you’ve done?”

“How else can I explain it to you? What would you have me do?”

Clarke’s voices raises. “I don’t know; maybe show some remorse; maybe care?”

“I told you, Clarke. I do care.”

Clarke shakes her head. “You care so much that you’re going to kill me if I don’t help you.”

Lexa’s heart feels heavy, but it is a burden that she cannot allow to get in the way of what is expected of her. She must do what is right by her people, even when it’s wrong by her heart.

“I will not pretend that the choice I made didn’t feel personal to you, Clarke. But I need for you to see that it was the only choice that I could make. More lives were saved by accepting the Mountain Man’s terms than would have been lost had I not. And I need for you to see that by taking it personally, that is the very reason that my people see yours as enemies.”

“And if we agree to leave you alone, promise not to seek blood for blood?”

“You are still an invader on our lands.”

Clarke wants to pull her hair out. She feels like there’s no way to win, no way to have peace. To her, the Grounders don’t want peace. Otherwise, they wouldn’t fight it at every turn. And part of her decides to just accept this inevitability, even as the more tenacious part of her still holds out for that elusive hope.

“So war is the only option then?”

“No, there is another option: you help us, and in return, we give you the territories that you currently reside in, as well as some surrounding.”

“You’ll leave us alone?”

“Yes, Clarke.”

“And why should I trust a word you say? What’s to stop you for selling us out the next time your people are in trouble?”

“Do you remember our talk on the mountain, when I asked you what you would like to have happen once the siege was done?”

Clarke chuckles humorlessly. “There’s little about that day that I don’t remember.”

If Lexa feels that barb, she doesn’t show it.

“Perhaps we should have that talk now that neither of us are at war.”

“I still don’t see how we can be expected to trust you.”

Lexa is losing this discussion, and she doesn’t like it. Clarke is leaving her with few options. She feels that she’s trying to do this in a way that Clarke would respect, but it’s not working. She only knows one other way to approach this subject.

“Clarke, if we wanted to have war with your people, we’d have already laid siege to the Ark.”

“So we’re back to killing if you don’t get what you want.”

“What we need, Clarke. I have no desire to ask this of you, but as commander, I have a duty to my people.”

“Just… spare me.”

“I am trying to, Clarke.”

“No, that’s not- just… nevermind. What is it you want me to do?”

A premature wave of relief rolls over Lexa. Clarke is starting to ask the right questions, but she won’t allow herself to believe it until the treaty is forged in blood. To bleed off her anxiousness, Lexa begins to pace as she explains.

“The Reapers have taken to the mountain. They’re using what’s left of the Red. We have managed to capture two of them, but our attempts at reversing the effects have been fruitless.”

Clarke nods. “You want me to save your people.”

“Yes, Clarke.”

“And in return, you’ll spare my life and offer a real peace treaty that secures us against future attack from your people as well as gives us territory?”

“Yes, Clarke.”

“And what happens if you break this treaty like you did the last time?”

Lexa stops and turns to the girl, her timbre emotionless, cavalier. “I will be labeled a traitor to my people, and put to death by my own sword.”

Clarke seems a bit stunned by this information, but then she remembers what happened with Lincoln, with Quint. Lincoln was exiled, and Quint was tortured until Lexa put an end to it. She is forced to wonder if Lexa would risk her life for such a thing if she weren’t serious.

But then Lexa is always serious.

“You know the Council may not go for this after what you’ve done.”

Lexa nods. “I understand. But I would like to try.”

“Fine,” Clarke says, trying to lift from the table and balance her weight on her working leg. “I should probably head back then.”

She braces herself and attempts to take a step, but nearly collapses. Lexa is there instantly, lifting her up and setting her on the table. She looks to Clarke, an inscrutable expression on her face as she swipes the sweat-matted hair from Clarke’s forehead.

Her voice is oddly gentle. “You need to stay still and rest. You’re no good to either of our people dead.”

For a moment Clarke forgets where she is and who she’s with. For a moment she sees that vulnerability that’s underneath, the same that she saw only once before when she confronted Lexa for her heartless rhetoric, the only time she ever successfully cracked the armor to see the heart beating there. But once reality encroaches, she evenly removes the hands from her hips, making it clear that such contact is not only unwelcome, but not permitted.

Lexa takes a step back, having forgotten herself.

“I will assemble an entourage. Unfortunately, we need to leave as soon as possible. The Reapers do not have much time. Nyko will care for you as we travel. If we leave within the hour, we should arrive at the Ark before dark.”

Clarke doesn’t say anything, merely nods her ascension.

“Are you hungry,” Lexa asks.

“No,” Clarke replies.

The air feels thick, and Lexa finds her armor uncomfortably heavy as she looks for any opportunity to shed even an ounce of its weight so that this girl who’s enthralled her can believe in her goodwill. But Clarke is no longer looking, no longer receptive. It is too late for such things.

“I’ll leave you in peace, then.”

Lexa turns for the door.

“Lexa..."

Lexa stops. The cool indifference that using her title affords Clarke is gone. And now she knows that whatever Clarke is about to say is personal.

"If you go back on your word, I swear to you, this time, I’ll kill you myself.”

Lexa closes her eyes and takes a deep breath to still the flurry of apprehension Clarke’s voice inspires. It is cold where it used to be so warm. But she can expect no less given the circumstances, and she can offer no more for the same reasons.

It only takes a moment, years of practice coming to the forefront and shutting her heart away. She looks at Clarke over her shoulder and nods once before stepping out of the hut.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She gives herself over to this moment, but it is just a moment, fleeting and perfect in its imperfection. These are the moments that keep her going, keep her alive, because these are the moments that remind her that it’s true. Even if it is weakness, no one gets to know, not even the girl, not really.
> 
> But it is only a moment, and then it’s gone, all such things silenced in the face of what is yet to be done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See chapter 1 for disclaimers.
> 
> All my fic, including other fandoms, is available on my [blog](https://fictionforlesbians.wordpress.com/). You can also follow me on [Tumblr](https://fictionforlesbians.tumblr.com/), [Twitter](https://twitter.com/vaginawig1/), and email me through vaginawig@yahoo.com. 
> 
> **Please leave lots of feedback, especially if it's constructively critical. I write because I love it, but I post because I wish to get better. Your thoughts are invaluable to me!**

There was an early fall chill in the air by the time that the envoy took to the South over six hours ago. They had loaded Clarke into a cart, having determined that riding a horse would only further exasperate her injured leg. She had fallen asleep immediately, or perhaps passed out, but while concerned for Clarke’s health, Lexa had been thankful.

She had many things to consider, and she knew that if Clarke were awake, she’d see right through Lexa’s carefully built walls, exposing and challenging as was her way. Normally Lexa would crave that dialogue, but she could not afford to lose any more face in front of her people, especially those of the warriors surrounding her just now.

The Trikru have been growing steadily unsettled. The fact that Clarke and Lexa had been in the forest during the missile strike had not gone overlooked, especially by the Ice Nation. Her people are not prone to rumors, but there had been speculation, and while no one would dare to make accusations without proof, the air of unease is palpable.

The Ice Nation is still seeking answers, but mostly, they’re seeking blood.

Lexa has gone over the scenario a thousand times or more in her head just on this excursion alone, and she always comes to the same conclusion. But she cannot convince herself that her people would see her motivations for what they were: to put an end to the threat of the Mountain Men once and for all. And even if they could, the Ice Nation would not care. Theirs is an uneasy alliance at best. Lexa believes that all would see it as Clarke does: a betrayal.

Lincoln’s disappearance only further compounded matters. She knows that it was Indra who had given him the means of escape, but she chose to believe that he’d escaped on his own, at least publicly. She does not wish to kill one of her strongest warriors, a leader in her own right. But Lincoln is seen as a threat. If he is caught, he will be tried and executed without a word of protestation. And if Indra’s assistance is found out, she will meet the same fate.

The fact is that trust is an immense factor for the Trikru, and once it’s gone there’s no getting it back.

Lexa knows that she’s putting a tremendous amount of trust in Clarke. She looks over at the girl, this keeper of secrets, noting how peaceful she seems in rest. Truly, she finds Clarke to be inspiring, an immense challenge wrapped in breathtaking beauty. But she is also terrifying. Her soft mouth concealing a blade-like tongue, and she knows that with one carefully placed word, Clarke could send her to her death, send Indra and Lincoln to their deaths, and plunge her people into war.

Either way, Lexa would make the same decision again. The lives of two-hundred and ninety-eight people do not compare to countless lifetimes of capture and torture. And even if her people did find out, label her a traitor and put her to death, she would die knowing that she did everything in her power to protect them.

So why can’t she quit thinking about it? She knows that what she did was what she was supposed to do, but she can’t seem to stop analyzing it. The blood of her people is on her hands, but that is the burden of a commander, a burden that she was born to bear.

And if she allows herself, she can feel that burden; she can feel just how immense it is. And she does. She has to, even if only for a moment, because to do otherwise would be to dishonor those sacrificed. She remembers that day, the horrific wailing and blazing agony. Like a wound that won’t heal, it bleeds, and brings other horrors from her past to light.

She remembers Costia left to be tortured and murdered for secrets that Lexa had never trusted her with. She remembers the Sky People standing at the opening to a mountain where she turned them over like lambs to slaughter. She remembers Clarke’s face, her tears, her broken-heart…

In this moment, she gazes down on the girl from her horse unabashedly. Clarke is unlike any person that she’s ever met, both physically and emotionally. And like a salve to stop the bleeding, she allows herself to feel that too.

The color of Clarke’s eyes is not something that is common among her people. It’s a rarity, just like her own. But Clarke’s seem to be a fragment broken from the very sky, encompassing it in both color and endlessness. And the amber of Clarke’s hair reminds her of the wheat grass in the summer. She has often walked through the fields to the West to center herself, her arms extended to let the thin stalks whisper over her palms as she marvels at how something so soft, so delicate, can defy the strength of the forest to overtake the terrain.

Clarke is all of these things for her: unfathomable beauty and gentle strength. Lexa remembers what it feels like to be so utterly, so irrevocably affected. She remembers a challenge, a push, a fall through a moment just like this one. She remembers a warm embrace and soft kiss, because unlike any other she’s ever encountered, not even Costia, she trusts Clarke with her heart. And though she conceals it, it is not without fracture of its own.

She gives herself over to this moment, but it is just a moment, fleeting and perfect in its imperfection. These are the moments that keep her going, keep her alive, because these are the moments that remind her that it’s true. Even if it is weakness, it doesn't matter; no one gets to know, not even the girl, not really.

But it is only a moment, and then it’s gone, all such things silenced in the face of what is yet to be done.

“Rider,” Indra calls from the front of the caravan.

Without a word the envoy stops and their warriors assume a defensive formation. The woods are far less treacherous now that the Mountain Men are gone, but they are vigilant nonetheless. The sound of hooves beating hard against the soft earth reaches her ears as the rider comes into view.

It’s Kenya, one of Lexa’s scouts. Lexa sent her ahead to inform the Skaikru of their impending arrival, Clarke’s condition, as well as to watch and report. Her appearance means that they are close. The rider pulls to a hard stop alongside Lexa and nods her head in greeting before debriefing in their native Trigedasleng.

“I’ve informed the Skaikru of your arrival, Heda. They have agreed to meet you in peace.”

Lexa nods. “And after you left?”

“I did as you instructed and observed undetected from the trees. Their council does not trust you, but the one they call Kane convinced them to listen.”

Kane always had noble intentions from the very start. And while she trusts what she saw in the holding cell, she also knows that there is little that he can do to sway them.

“You know what to do if anything happens once we’re inside?”

Kenya nods.

“Go then. Take three others with you and prepare yourselves.”

“Yes, Heda.”

Kenya sharply turns her horse and speeds away just as fast as she rode in, and the caravan continues. If the report had been anything less, they would have turned around, but she has Clarke. She knows that they would see her to collect the girl if for no other reason.

Indra holds back until she’s beside the commander. “You trust the Skaikru.”

“I trust what I know,” Lexa replies.

“And what is it that you know?”

Lexa keeps her eyes ahead. She may have saved Indra’s life out of respect, but she is tired of the constant second guessing.

“If you do not see, why should I entertain your ignorance?”

“I only wish to protect our people, to protect you.”

Lexa finally looks over at her. “You wish to question my authority and make your disapproval known.”

“There was a time when you respected my council.”

“There was a time when you did not wish to start a war and condemn more of our people to die. But now is not that time.”

“No,” Indra faces forward. “Now is not that time.”

They ride quietly for several minutes before Indra speaks again.

“If you’re wrong, we’ll all die.”

Lexa looks at Clarke again, but this time as nothing more than a bargaining chip. The Skaikru will not attack them until they’re certain that she’s safe. They do not believe in sacrificing one for the whole. And in another brief, fleeting moment, Lexa envies them their emotions.

“They will not attack us as long as we have the girl, Indra. But if you’re frightened, you can stay in the trees with Kenya.”

“You dishonor me,” Indra fumes. “It is you that should not be risked. If you die-”

“Then you will have your war.”

That silences Indra for the remainder of the ride, though it’s a tense silence. Lexa knows that Indra thoughts are caught in a war of their own. She does not believe that Indra is entirely wrong, but she has always had to temper Indra’s council. The warrior is more distrustful of outsiders than most, and for good reason. But Lexa isn’t quick to hasty decisions, even if she knows that some of what Indra says is true. Ultimately, the safest course is to eradicate the threat without a word.

But the best chance of saving what’s left of her people would die with the Skaikru. It is not her duty to take the easiest way out and just protect herself. It is her duty to choose the path that saves the most lives, even at the cost of her own. She will not condemn anyone without cause and she will not hide from confrontation if that cause can be avoided.

Before she knows it, another two hours have passed and the mangled edges of the Ark’s ring peak out from the tops of the trees.

Indra she speaks once more. “I’m with you, Leksa, to whatever end.”

She glances at Indra and nods once before the warrior cantors back to the front of the caravan. Lexa sits up straighter in her saddle, her sharp eyes alert as they scan the forest and the Ark’s perimeter for anything to cause alarm. She can only find her scouts, each making calls to indicate that nothing is abnormal. And while there are armed guards in great number at the gate, the sight of Abby and Kane waiting just inside affirms that, if nothing else, she is right about the leverage that Clarke represents.

They approach the now opening gate slowly, and Lexa climbs from her horse with practiced ease to reach into the cart and wake Clarke. She places a hand to the girl’s shoulder and shakes gently.

“Clarke,” she says.

Clarke is unmoved, her breathing labored and her cheeks flushed. Lexa places her hand to a warm forehead and feels a pang of panic sweep through her, but then the girl’s eyes open reluctantly and it dissipates.

“We’re here,” she tells the girl.

Clarke feels a wave of panic all her own. She’s not ready to face her friends, her mother, any of them, not yet. But then she doesn’t have a choice. Lexa made that patently clear.

“Clarke,” Abby calls out as she strides up to the cart.

“Hey,” Clarke’s voice cracks out.

Mother and daughter just look at one another, seemingly sharing a private, unspoken discussion. The worry on Abby’s face gives testament to the words that she’s not saying, and the same goes for Clarke.

Lexa finds this amusing. They may as well just say what they’re thinking, maybe share a few desperate hugs, noisy tears, and kisses. There is no need to hold back on her account. The weakness lies in feeling the emotions, not just in showing them. But unlike Lexa, they do a poor job of hiding it.

“Right then,” Abby says after a moment, and then her doctor’s instincts kick in as she starts to examine Clarke with quick, clinical precision.

The head wound is dismissed given Clarke’s ability to wake after sleeping, and the various superficial scratches and cuts will heal, though a couple of them may need sutured. But the leg, well, the leg earns Lexa a look that kills her minute bout of levity. Abby’s eyes are accusing at the very least, perhaps scornful or loathing.

“What happened,” she asks Clarke, though her eyes don’t leave the commander.

Clarke frowns, searching her mind for answers where only murky snippets can be found. She looks to Lexa who speaks for her.

“She’d fallen in the forest and tumbled into a ravine of brambles. We retrieved her.”

“And you couldn’t reset the leg,” Abby asks in annoyance.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Lexa replies looking over to Nyko who raises a shoulder to indicate that he’s not sure either. He’d done what he could, what he’d have done for any of his own: he stopped the bleeding and fought the infection.

“Nevermind,” Abby says with a sigh. “Thank you… for pulling her out and bringing her home.”

Abby doesn’t look at Lexa when she says this though; and Lexa believes that Abby’s gratitude is disingenuous. But she is not here for kind words.

“One of you needs to get a gurny and be quick. The rest of you, help get her up,” Abby calls to the armed Skaikru standing stiffly within the gate.

They look to one another before warily moving to do as bid. One runs back towards the Ark and the others struggle not to hurt the girl. Lexa is astounded by how oafish they are, how graceless. Clarke cries out in pain and they stop, so Lexa steps forward. They move aside without a word and Lexa lifts the girl gently. Clarke doesn’t protest and Abby’s a little nonplussed by the show of sheer strength and tenderness.

“Uh, the gurny should be here shortly,” Abby stutters.

But then several awkward minutes pass with no sign of the guard, and with a sigh, Abby starts walking ahead.

“This way,” she says.”

Lexa follows with Indra, Kane, Nyko, and the armed Skaikru pulling in behind. When they start to move, Clarke reaches up and fastens her hands around Lexa’s neck. It’s a weak grip, but it helps to keep her from being jostled.

“You’re stronger than you look,” she says wearily to the commander.

“You’re heavier than you look,” Lexa replies.

Clarke frowns. “Did you just tease me?”

Lexa’s face remains implacable. “Tease?”

“Nevermind,” Clarke sighs out.

Clarke’s head rolls to Lexa’s shoulder and rests against her collarbone. The girl isn’t looking at her anymore and she allows herself a small smirk. For all of Clarke’s ability to see through the pomp and bravado, it’s the little things that she misses entirely.

Of course Lexa was teasing, and of course she knows what the word means, but Clarke really can’t seem to believe that Lexa’s not cold when she doesn’t have to be. And Lexa takes no small pleasure in allowing her that disillusionment, even as she finds it frustrating.

The guard with the gurny meets them at the opening to the Ark, a grimace on his face. Without a word, they shuffle past him, following Abby into the immense, rounded structure that appears to Lexa to be made of melted swords. It seems sturdy, much sturdier than the wood and skin of Trikru architecture. It’s also a labyrinth, she notes. It would be easy to get lost, to be trapped. Everything looks the same and the pasty grey color is oppressive. She much prefers the riot of color that is her forest.

Lexa rests her chin lightly against the hair of Clarke’s head, cataloging every step she takes while allowing herself this moment of… she’s not sure what it is. But something about holding Clarke when she’s vulnerable and having Clarke relax into that embrace is heartening. And that’s the very reason that she pulls her head away and straightens her shoulders. She cannot afford to be heartened just now.

“Right here,” Abby says, gesturing to a table in a large room filled with various strange vials and chrome objects that Lexa has never seen before.

She lays Clarke down gently. The girl is half-in and half-out of sleep, and Lexa hovers over her for just a moment before pulling away.

The chancellor addresses the commander but starts to pull at the material of Clarke’s pants to further expose the wound. “I need to look after Clarke,” she says, removing Nyko’s bindings. “Kane and the guards will see to your needs.”

Lexa easily reads the dismissal in Abby’s demeanor, and while she does not wish to leave Clarke, she also feels the urgency of seeing to Clarke’s health. The most immediate needs of the Reapers will have to wait. She also does not wish to upset the Skaikru any further. She understands that the first gesture of trust falls on her shoulders given the circumstances. But if she leaves the girl without having settled something concrete, she loses the leverage that Clarke provides.

Abby scrutinizes the wound. It’s not a clean break. Part of the bone has pierced the side of Clarke’s leg and is sticking out through the skin, but she should be able to pair it back up with some work. The wound itself is clean though, surprisingly, and she realizes that her ability to save her daughter’s leg is because of the care that the commander provided. She does not voice this though, merely sets to relieve her daughter.

Seeing this, knowing that Clarke is the immediate concern to these people, Lexa makes a decision. It is one of trust that she doesn’t feel, but she will give this once, hoping that it will be enough.

“That’s not necessary,” she replies. “We’ll set up camp along the tree-line. Once you’ve finished, send one of my warriors to find me.”

Abby nods, bracing her hand against Clarke’s knee as she grabs her ankle to twist it slowly. Clarke groans and with a last look at the girl, Lexa turns to leave. Indra steps forward, purposely speaking in their tongue so that Abby cannot understand.

“You let them take Clarke without having secured the treaty?”

Lexa looks to Indra, ready to slam her down for again getting in the way, but Clarke lets out a scream so blood curdling that the guards outside come rushing in guns raised. Kane raises a hand to quiet them but Lexa finds herself rushing forward, pushing the hair from Clarke’s forehead and looking into her pain-glazed eyes.

“She has to hold still,” Abby says to Kane. “I was hoping she’d stay asleep while I reset it. I can’t do anything for the pain.”

Abby comes up on the other side of Clarke, giving Lexa a strange expression that backs her away before looking into her daughter’s face. But Lexa is forced to stop her backward momentum when she finds that Clarke has retrieved her hand and that weak grip is nowhere to be found.

“Clarke, you have to hold still. I’ll make it as quick as I can, okay?”

Clarke swallows thickly and nods once before turning her eyes on Lexa. The commander feels a flush of something unidentifiable but steps closer to the table. In the corner of her eye she can see Abby preparing to move the leg again, so she speaks to the girl, saying the first thing that comes to mind in an attempt to distract her.

“Tell me, Clarke, what is it like in the sky?”

The girl starts to jerk as Abby pulls on her leg, and Clarke starts to pant, her grip tightening on Lexa’s hand.

“Do you- do you like the stars,” Clarke asks breathlessly.

Lexa nods and Clarke gives a faint smile that quickly becomes a grimace. Sweat starts to bead on her lip and forehead as her lungs struggle to find the air, but she’s thankful for Lexa’s attempt at distraction.

“From space, the stars are… bigger,” she grinds out through her teeth. “And brighter than they are from the ground, and they’re every- where.” She stops to breathe, the jerking intensifying. “And sunrise- it happens sixteen times a d-“ Clarke squeezes Lexa’s hand and Lexa squeezes back. “A day…”

Clarke heaves and looks like she might vomit as the sucking sounds of bone scraping through flesh fills the room.

“You’d hate the sky, though,” Clarke continues. “It’s so… confining. I can’t picture you confined. You have to be free-”

Clarke cries out, and thrashes. She can’t help it, but Kane reaches over to pin her thigh down as Lexa places a strong hand to her shoulder. Clarke can’t talk anymore; she can’t even think clearly, so Lexa gets right in her field of vision, her deep eyes commanding Clarke’s attention as she picks up the slack.

“When there’s snow on the ground, there is a place not far from here to the North where lights overwhelm the sky. It starts out as a green haze with a single line. But as you watch, the line seems to grow and take shapes, as if becoming riders, great warriors so fierce and untouchable that they are made of mist. And then finally it explodes in a great battle. Bright beams of red and pink and purple shoot out as the war in the green rages around them.”

Clarke lifts her head to gaze down at her mother as the pain becomes unbearable, as her leg is twisted and jerked back into shape, but Lexa’s grip is unmoved. Clarke’s head snaps back hard back against the table as tears roll from her yes and Lexa moves her hand under Clarke’s head, holding her down but also cradling her. Clarke jerks as one last scrape of bone on bones echoes hollowly in the cavernous, metal room. Her eyes roll but she hasn’t passed out yet. Lexa tries again to get her attention, turning Clarke’s face to her and gazing into cloudy eyes.

“It lasts for hours, Clarke, until finally, the battle is over, the mist turning yellow as the sun rises and sends the warriors back to their graves.”

“To the- North,” Clarke asks breathlessly, her face contorted.

“Yes,” Lexa says. “Someday, if our people can find peace, I will take you there.”

Lexa smiles when Clarke’s eyes focus and the tears subside. She glances down at Abby to see her cleaning and preparing to sew up the wound. The leg looks almost normal now, and Kane releases his hold as relief seems to fill the very air. The worst is over.

“The Aurora Borealis,” Clarke mumbles, and Lexa looks back to her. Clarke is obviously dazed and tired but less pained. “That’s what it’s called. I’ve seen it before from Space, but I’d like to see it from the ground.” Her eyelids flutter shut. “Everything’s more beautiful from the ground. More free… like you.”

Clarke finally succumbs to agony and exhaustion, her hand going slack against Lexa’s. But the commander lingers, just simply holding the girl’s hand, holding her, even as Lexa’s thoughts are buffeted by so many emotions that she can’t discern one of them from another. So all of them get held back. It’s Abby’s voice that reminds her of who and where she is, effectively backing her away from Clarke.

“Her leg will be fine once I get it stitched and fitted into a splint.” She turns to one of the guards still standing in the door. “Talk to Raven and Wick. Tell them I need a brace for Clarke’s leg.” She nods and leaves, and Abby turns back to her work. “I need to sew up a few of these cuts too.” She looks pointedly at Lexa. “It’ll take about an hour. I’ll send someone to find you when I’m finished.”

Lexa can tell that her presence is making Abby uncomfortable, so with one last look to Clarke, she leaves, the remaining armed guards escorting her and her group to the gate where it clanks shut behind them.

Indra wisely chooses not to say anything. Instead she gives Lexa a look that could melt steel before venturing to the tree-line to help set up camp. Lexa’s tent is already up, so she seeks solitude inside.

Indra announces herself before throwing back the tent flaps and entering the small, but functional space.

“The Skaikru council is ready, Heda.”

Lexa tosses back the last of her water and sets the cup on one the table that she’s been leaning over for the last hour and a half. She rolls up the parchment spread out on the surface, the same one she’s been pouring over since her return to her tent.

The terms of this treaty are fairly straight forward: the Sky People will help cure the Reapers. In return, they will be given territory and citizenship that will be respected by the twelve clans. The other clans can hardly protest. Each will have some of their own returned to them. They may still see the Sky People as interlopers, but that is something that Lexa plans to address in roughly two weeks’ time when they travel to Polis.

Every year, the heads of the different tribes meet before winter to discuss different issues. It is necessary to keep trading lines open as well as to gather supplies to prepare for the upcoming winter. It also allows Lexa to be well informed of any power struggles that might be occurring within the different clans. By that time, she hopes that the treaty will be secure with the Sky People, and the Reapers rehabilitated.

It’s an odd system, but it works for the most part. For all intents and purposes, all of the clans are the same people and the same bloodlines, but a difference of opinion many years ago saw them split. People chose their loyalties and each went their separate ways. Since then, people are born into their clan. If they choose to defect to another, it is permitted. However, it is not an easy transition and most choose to stay with their respective families. Each clan is self-sustaining, with its own head, but the main differences lay in political and moral standings.

The woods clans are more noble. They respect the forest and are fiercely loyal to their own. The same could be said of the coastal and desert clans. The Ice Nation is probably the harshest of the twelve, and also the most problematic. Their people are brutal and cruel. Perhaps that is why they choose to live in some of the most unforgiving terrain. Their loyalties are not an affectionate bond so much as a means to survive, and their distrust is not only for outsiders. That is their way, their culture.

Indra is the head of Tondc, and Anya was the leader of Lexa’s clan, the Trigeda. Tris would have stepped in after Anya’s demise, but she was killed by the explosion on the bridge. A new leader has yet to be chosen, and while the yearly summit in Polis will rectify the situation, the greatest of Lexa’s worries is the Queen of the Ice Nation, the Azgeda.

She did not show at the summit where the missile hit. She sent someone else in her place. He was found dead in the wreckage, and Lexa cannot help but wonder if Andrea somehow knew that this would be the case. Either way, she disrespected Lexa by not appearing as she was bidden.

Was she afraid to face Lexa for her crimes against Costia? Lexa hopes that this is the case. It would give her the upper-hand, but somehow, she doesn’t believe it. Andrea is a proud and ruthless woman, sly, manipulative, and unyielding. She does nothing without knowing that she can win and she will maintain that she has nothing but goodwill towards Lexa until an opportunity presents itself.

Lexa believes that she’s just waiting, biding her time for such a moment, but outside of personal grievances, she has no way of removing Andrea from power. All Lexa has is speculation, based off of years of personal experience and knowledge gleaned from less than public sources.

What she does know for sure is that a treaty with the Sky People will not be welcome. And if Andrea does show, as is again expected of her, she will most certainly incite the remaining tribes against them. Unfortunately for anyone else, Lexa is the commander of all the clans. The clans will fall in line, or protestors will be executed.

Lexa tucks the map with the new territories as well as the treaty itself under her arm and picks up her sword, taking a moment to stare at the battle-worn blade. It would be a lie to say that she does not wish for Andrea to step out of line. She wants it; she craves it, her very weapon sings with the hunger of Andrea’s blood. It would be justice, regardless of the fact that it would never account for the eternal feelings of loss.

“Are Kenya and the others in position,” she asks, sliding her sword into the sheathe that’s slung across her back.

“Yes, Heda.”

“Very well.”

She turns and hands Indra the parchments, and the pair quietly makes their way back towards the gates to the Ark, several warriors following them. They are met by Marcus Kane who greets them politely once the gate has been opened.

“Commander, welcome,” he says genially.

“Kane,” she says simply.

He smiles and it seems genuine, but then he gestures to a large bin.

“If you will please leave your weapons, I will escort you to where Abby and the other council members wait.”

No one makes a move to disarm themselves, and Indra vocalizes her disapproval.

“You would have us unarmed and surrounded,” she asks warily.

Kane tucks his hands behind his back, a stance that Lexa knows means he is unmovable in this demand.

“Given the circumstances, we must insist that no foreign weapons enter the camp. Of course, they will be returned to you upon you departure.”

“You did not ask this earlier,” Lexa points out.

“There were only three of you then,” Kane says. “And you had your arms full.”

He smiles as he says this, and while Lexa is unaffected by his charm, she removes her sword and places it in the bin. She gives Indra a pointed look, shutting off any further avenue for discussion. Each of her warriors follows suit, and as the clang of metal begins to rattle in the bin, Kane’s expression as he meets Lexa’s eyes shows his gratitude.

Again they start to move, Lexa and Kane at the front.

“You do know that our people are masters in hand-to-hand combat,” Lexa says.

Kane chuckles, his arms still clasped behind his back as if enjoying a leisurely stroll.

“I have no doubt,” he replies.

Little does he know that a sword is not the only weapon on any one of Lexa’s warriors, just the most easily seen. Kane leads them through the curious and baleful glares of those in the courtyard, into the Ark, and through a series of maze-like hallways, and this time Lexa is prepared. She’s mapping each turn, however slight, and adding it to what she already knows. She will not be made helpless in a potential ambush.

They arrive in another room that looks almost exactly like the one that Clarke had been laid in, only this one is oval in shape and so is the large, metal table in the middle. There are chairs tucked in around it, a few of them filled with various individuals that Lexa has never met. However, Abby is at the far end, and that is whom Lexa focuses her attention on.

She had hoped that Clarke would be present, but given her health, it appears that she will have to convince them without that additional support. Each individual stands, but it is only Abby who speaks.

“Commander, please have a seat,” Abby intones.

Kane makes his way to Abby’s side and Lexa hears more than sees that armed Skaikru are filling the gap at the door. She glances to Indra before taking the chair nearest her. Indra nods once, and the rest of her entourage remain standing, quietly spreading throughout in the room.

This unsettles Abby, but there is little that she can do other than start a war right here, so she swallows her nervousness and reclaims her seat.

“We understand that you have a proposition,” Abby starts.

“It is a solution,” Lexa corrects her. “To all of our problems.”

“We don’t have any problems outside of your people,” a man across from Lexa chimes in, anger lacing his words.

“And this would solve that problem,” Lexa says again, completely unmoved by his outburst.

“What is this solution,” Kane tries.

Lexa stands and every Skaikru in the room flinches. This is a good sign for her. If these people cannot trust her, then at least they fear her. She moves towards Abby, taking the map from Indra, and laying it out on the table in front of the Chancellor.

“This is the territory that you currently reside in. It belongs to the clans of TonDC, the Trigeda, and the KruWoda.”

Kane leans into Abby and they both study the map as the others can only get a glimpse of it. Lexa puts her finger where they currently are.

“This is the Ark, and these lines,” she traces the dotted lines that indicate the various territories. “Are the boundaries for each clan’s claim. As you can see, the clan territories intersect where you are. What I am offering you is this territory.” She runs her finger in a circle around the Ark, giving them roughly a two square mile radius.

“In exchange for what,” Abby asks ominously.

“Your assistance in saving the Reapers,” Lexa replies, looking Abby right in the eye.

“And if we refuse?”

“You will have two days to vacate.” She points back at the map. “But you will have a long journey ahead of you.”

And it’s true. Based on the territories for all twelve clans, nearly half of what used to be America is already owned. To further punctuate this point, Lexa continues.

“The areas outside of our territories are the deadzone. They are wastelands and they are lawless. That is where criminals and fugitives often go. I cannot speak on what circumstances you will find yourselves in should you go there, but it is the only area not claimed by one of the twelve clans.”

“I refuse to listen to this,” the same man as before spits out. “These savages have no right to come in here and make demands after what they did. They cannot be trusted.”

“Councilor,” Kane interjects. “You will hear what she has to say or you will excuse yourself.”

“No,” Abby says. “He’s right.” She looks up at Lexa and decides to stand. This time the Grounders flinch. “How can we possibly trust you after you abandoned us to Cage?”

This is where Lexa feels Clarke’s loss the most. Clarke would help her people see that resistance is folly. But she is not here. And while Lexa felt the need to explain her actions to Clarke, she does not feel that need with those assembled.

“I’m not asking you to trust me, Abby. I am telling you what your options are.”

The very vocal man from earlier huffs to his feet and braces himself on the tabletop.

“Chancellor,” he says smoothly, completely ignoring Lexa. “Let’s end this now.”

Lexa knows a veiled threat when she hears it. So she studies this man for a moment. He’s trim, and probably capable with one of the weapons that the Sky People brandish, but he would not have time to draw said weapon. One of her warriors is only a few feet behind him and she is not an easy target.

“If you wish to have war,” Lexa addresses him, waiting for him to look at her, and when he does, she continues. “Then I will give it to you.”

He pushes up off of the table, rocking it with his weight and anger.

“And what makes you think that you’ll live long enough to incite your people? Without you, we have the advantage.”

A woman to the right of the table pitches in. “He’s right, Abby.”

Another councilor stands, opposing the other two, and an argument breaks out. Kane gets to his feet and joins the fray, only he’s trying to stop the arguing. Everyone is talking over each other, some for and some against executing Lexa where she stands, all of them up in arms except for Abby.

She is just as cool, just as calm, as she looks Lexa in the eye. Those eyes, so much like Clarke’s in their beauty and defiance, say a million things. They speak of anger, and hurt, and confusion, but they also wish to be gentle again. They long for peace.

“Heda,” Indra whispers their native tongue in her ear. “We should leave… now.”

Lexa considers everything happening around her, even as she doesn’t blink or look away from Abby. She does not wish to further injure the Sky People, but that is becoming a less and less likely option as the shouting continues. She wonders why Abby doesn’t put a stop to it, but then maybe Abby doesn’t know if she should. Maybe she’s trying to reconcile the monster standing before her with the gentle caregiver from earlier. Maybe she’s searching for the way out as well.

She cannot decide though, and Lexa is not one for indecision. She makes one, and quick as lightening pulls the blade from the belt concealed beneath her duster and slams it hard, burying it deeply into the map, right through the Ark, and into the metal table beneath with a bang that echoes off of the industrial walls like a gunshot.

It is this sound, this action, this realization that the Trikru are not unarmed, that brings a screeching halt to the shouting. Even the guards at the entrance, with their weapons raised and barrels aimed at Lexa’s heart, don’t quite feel confident that they have this situation entirely under control.

Lexa looks back at Abby. “If you cannot trust that I will honor the terms of our agreement, then trust that as commander, I have no choice but to do what is in the best interest of my people. This…” she taps the map. “Is in the best interest of my people. It just so happens to be in the best interest of yours as well.”

“I do trust that you will do what is in your best interests,” Abby replies pointedly. “And that includes dishonoring this treaty, as you’ve done before.”

“I did not dishonor our previous agreement, Abby. We had no treaty outside of uniting to take down our common enemy. We fulfilled that arrangement.”

Abby’s insulted; it’s written all over her face. “You consider leaving our people to be slaughtered honoring our agreement to unite?”

Lexa shakes her head. “I did not leave your people to be slaughtered. I sacrificed forty-eight people to save countless others, both yours and mine.” She does not admit that the missile was known, though she knows that Abby is aware. Instead, she looks to Kane. “Did you not do the same while in the sky?”

Kane spoke of it in the holding cell. She was there. She heard the words and saw the shame in his eyes. She saw how desperate he was to sacrifice himself to atone. The room is utterly quiet now. So quiet that breathing isn’t even discernible.

“That was different,” Abby says.

“Was it,” Kane asks in an uncertain voice.

Abby wants to say it again, wants to believe that she believes it, but she can’t because it’s true. They sacrificed some for the whole. The commander did no different. But the circumstances were incredibly different.

“It’s different because you didn’t have to do it.” She looks to Kane. “We had no choices up there. It was some or all.”

“On the Mountain it was some or more,” Lexa says, bringing Abby’s attention back to her. “I had a choice. It wasn’t a simple one, but it saved the most lives, your people’s included, and I would do that again. If you can’t see that, then I accept your anger and distrust. But you do need to realize that this treaty will include the safety of your people under the guidelines of your territory. As commander of the twelve clans, I am bound by that treaty, as are my people. To break it is treason. My people would put me to death.”

“Wait a minute,” Kane says. “You’re saying that if any of your people break this treaty, they’ll be executed?”

Lexa merely nods to him and lets that information settle, but she can tell that they’re not sold. And it’s because they aren’t understanding the full ramifications of their refusal.

“You have two options,” she says. “You’re either under our protection - becoming one of our people, or you are our enemy.”

“This is ridiculous,” the more outspoken of those assembled tries again. “There’s no reason to see us as an enemy. You’ve been the attackers from the start.”

Lexa does not wish to placate him, but at least this addition to the conversation is rational. So she faces him and answers him with the respect that he’s been lacking.

“You cannot fall from the sky and expect those already here to operate as you see fit. Whether you find it ridiculous or not, those are your options. It will not change because you will it to.”

“And if we accept,” Abby asks. “Does that mean that you’re our commander?”

“Our clans are independent. You, as Chancellor, would be the head of your clan, but yes, you would be accountable to me, and you would have to familiarize yourself with our principles. As to how you run your clan, that’s at your discretion so long as you maintain those principles.”

“And what are those principles?”

Indra steps forward to provide Lexa with the treaty, and it joins its counterpart on the table.

“All of the actual terms are there. In times of war, you will fight with us to survive. In times of peace, you will trade with us to survive. You do not kill without just cause because survival is dependent upon numbers. You will respect the forest and yourselves, because our survival depends on that as well. You will always protect your people, be loyal to your people, and find strength in your people. But mostly, you will survive. That is what it means to be one of us.”

Abby considers these words for only a moment. “And when you give an order, it’s to be followed without question.”

“Yes.”

“Forgive me, Commander, but I don’t trust you enough to submit to your rule.”

“I serve my people, Chancellor. I do my best to protect them no matter the cost. I would do the same for you.”

“You’re just a child,” Abby almost shouts.

Lexa could smile at this. The children in her clans are far more experienced and capable than those standing before her. Her people have very different ideas about what it means to be young and naïve.

“And so is Clarke,” Lexa replies. “Yet she seems to be the only one among you capable of seeing past her personal desires to do what needs to be done. She is your leader, regardless of title, because it is in her to be such. She bled for you, destroyed what she holds dear for you. The same is true of me and my people. How many of you can say the same?”

There are so many angry fumes seeping into the room that the seemingly impenetrable walls almost bow and groan with the effort to contain it all. But Lexa has never concerned herself with placating tantrums. There is neither time nor resource to waste. And she sees now that this was indeed a waste of time.

She pulls the knife from the map and the table, re-sheathing it about her waist. “You have until morning to accept. If you fail to do so, you have two days to vacate. You know how to contact me should you find yourselves reasonable.”

And with that, she leaves the room, her warriors following and leaving the Sky People in a tense, stunned silence. From this moment on, she will prepare for war. There are too many egos in that room to accept the humility of following someone else’s lead, even if it means their death. And if that is what they choose, she will give it to them. She has no other choice. She only hopes that Clarke can survive it, because she is quite possibly the only one who has earned the right to survive.


	5. Kings or Pawns, Emperors or Fools

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions escalate as the Skaikru pushes back and Lexa makes a choice she'll have to live with, or will she?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work of fiction is based off of the television show, The 100, and as such I will use aspects of the show. I also use lines from some of my favorite songs and literature. In those cases, all rights are reserved to the appropriate, respective parties as there is no infringement intended. However, this story is mine, and no element can be used, copied, downloaded, or shared in any way, shape, or form without my express, written consent.
> 
> This story contains material that is mature in theme and content. If you are under 18 years of age or homosexuality is illegal where you live, please do not read.
> 
> All my fic, including other fandoms, is available on my blog. You can also follow me on Tumblr, Twitter, and email me through vaginawig@yahoo.com. Please leave lots of feedback, especially if it's constructively critical. I write because I love it, but I post because I wish to get better. Your thoughts are invaluable to me!

“Heda, the Skai-”

“Bring them in,” Lexa cuts Indra off, refusing to look up or show her surprise. Instead, she keeps her eyes on the tip of her blade, turning it against the pad of her finger just as she’s done for the majority of the night, further wearing down the almost raw skin. 

She’s been waiting - quietly, patiently, and though no one would know it, nervously. She did not think that the Sky People would come to their senses. From the moment that she excused herself from the conference the evening prior, she’s done nothing but prepare and wait. Two riders had been sent immediately, one East and one West. Both had returned roughly half an hour ago with the news that the nearby clans had traveled through the night and were in position on all sides of the Ark. 

To anyone aware of warfare or strategy, it would appear that she intends to kill a fly with a hatchet, but she will not underestimate these people again. She will try a different tactic this time. Before, on the bridge, her warriors had made a spectacle of themselves. This made them easy targets, which is not their usual custom. Normally, their way is to usurp victory from the cover of the forest. But the spectacle at the bridge had been part of Lexa’s strategy when she’d made the call. It had also been part of her hubris. While she had sent her warriors to kill those that had fallen from the sky, she had not intended for it to actually need to happen. She had believed that just the appearance of her war party would send the invaders scattering. She had wished to intimidate them away.

It had failed, and it had cost her people dearly. Tris, and later Anya, had not been the only casualties of that mistake, but she had learned a valuable lesson in the loss. This time, she would actually make war not shout out her intentions and assume that it would be enough. Those in the Ark would have no warning, no sight, no smell, no sound of what was happening until the Trikru were upon them. Death would come swiftly. They were surrounded and they didn’t even know it. And most importantly, they wouldn’t stand a chance, despite their technology and ingenuity.

As sunrise drew closer with no word from the Skaikru, she wanted to feel remorse for what was about to happen. Truly, the feeling was there, but she would not give it attention or even acknowledge it. There was no time, and remorse would serve no purpose. Too much was hanging in the balance. She had taken due diligence to provide this enemy with an alternative, more than what was expected of her by her people. In fact, she risked public scrutiny for doing so. But she knew that Clarke would appreciate the effort, however minute in light of other recent transgressions. She also knew that Clarke had been the only reason that she was even trying. But, just like Clarke, the council wouldn’t listen to her. They listened to no one. At least this way, their blood was on their own hands. 

Surely Clarke would have no other way to see it. 

Surely Clarke would see that she’d tried.

But as the tent flaps are thrown back and Abby and Kane are ushered into the small space, she finds again that she had been wrong, only this time she is thankful for it. They have shown, just in the nick of time.   
She looks at them, her eyes never wavering as she takes in their appearance. They’re alone, which is surprisingly confident or utterly stupid. They seem haggard, tired, and thin, but strong. They’ve proven that strength, or at least Clarke and the original invaders have. But this is not Clarke. This is the council, and as such, Lexa is stronger, and she wishes to make that known.

“You agree to the terms,” she asks coolly, still turning the blade against her pad.

“No,” Abby answers, her posture rigid and defiant despite her small stature.

The blade stops. “Then you intend to leave?”

“No,” Abby says again.

Lexa swallows her consternation and raises her chin. “Then why have you come?”

“Heda, it’s a trap,” Indra snaps out in their native tongue.

Lexa raises a hand to silence the warrior, but while Indra’s tongue stays, her hand doesn’t leave the hilt of the sword around her waist, and Lexa knows that she will lash out if this situation is not treated carefully.  
“We came to offer you a treaty,” Kane says, lifting his hand to show the rolled parchment in it. “One that we feel is fair.”

“For both sides,” Abby adds pointedly.

Lexa cocks her head for a moment, debating within herself. The sheer insolence of these people to come to her and not only refuse her offer of benevolence, but to undermine her in front of her people would have seen any other person on the spot. She does not wish to do that, not at all. She does not wish to hurt Clarke any further, but it would seem that the Skaikru are determined to die. There is only so much that Lexa can allow to happen without retribution, at least publicly. 

But any such debate is halted as Indra steps forward and backhands Abby so hard across the face that the doctor stumbles and twists back into Kane.

“You dare to insult the commander,” she shouts, drawing on her sword as she moves in for Abby again.

Kane grabs Abby and backs away from the impending attack, and though Lexa is quick to speak, she’s unshaken. She merely orders the other guards to remove Indra and hold her for her disobedience. Lexa’s orders are carried out swiftly and without question, bringing the scuffle to a stop just as quickly as it escalated. In all reality, she’s grateful to Indra for what she has just done. Abby little more than secured her own execution with her behavior. She could insult Lexa on the Ark because there, she is the leader. But here, in front of Lexa’s people, where Lexa’s word was law, it could not and would not be tolerated. Indra may have given Lexa an opportunity to avoid killing Abby, but it comes with a price, one that Lexa will have to visit upon the warrior later.

Lexa wonders idly why doing what is right never falls into line with what is needed or expected. She laments it, but she is not naïve enough to dismiss the truth of these matters. She will do what is needed, what is expected, regardless of whether or not it feels right.

“So this is how you treat your allies,” Abby fires at her angrily as she smears some of the blood that’s beaded on her lip with an angry swipe of her hand. 

Lexa stands and sheathes her dagger at her waist before stepping closer. “You should learn to show respect, Abby.”

“Respect,” Abby repeats incredulously, but Kane puts a hand to her arm to stop any further outbursts.

“Abby,” he says quietly, and there is a sense of urgency in his tone and pleading in his eyes, though neither woman looks at him.

It takes a moment for Abby to reign in her temper, to swallow her tongue, but once Lexa’s sure that she’s calm, she merely holds out her hand. Kane places the treaty in her palm a little hesitantly and Lexa unrolls it. It’s the same treaty that she had drawn up, but there are some major amendments. She scans the changes and glances up at the two in front of her, her mind whirring with this information and making her exceedingly uncomfortable. She has to think quickly, to speak decisively, but she has absolutely no idea how this can be handled without war. So, she decides to bide herself some time to think things through by asking questions.

“You wish to move into the mountain?”

“Yes,” Abby says, her tone less than pleasant.

“You also wish to remain completely independent of my people and my command?”

“Absolutely.”

“And as a…,” Lexa looks down at the treaty to get the correct terminology. “Gesture of goodwill, you will cure the Reapers inside when you retake it?”

“Yes.”

“It’s a fair trade,” Kane says. “We take territories that we’ve already conquered that are separate from your own, we remove ourselves from your lands so you’ll have no reason to attack, we are able to remain autonomous, and we help your people in the process.”

Lexa nods. It’s a sound plan, a fair one, but there is one major problem that cannot be ignored. “You will also take control of the acid fog and missile systems,” she points out. “And you’re clearly still hostile towards me and my people.”

“The acid baths were destroyed,” Kane says, purposefully ignoring the missile systems.

“Beyond repair,” Lexa asks.

“Well, I-I don’t know,” Kane says. 

“And the missiles?”

Kane knew it was coming and merely sighs.

“Our defense systems are none of your concern,” Abby says. “Unless, of course, you plan to attack us… again.”

Lexa turns and picks up a pitcher of water, calmly pouring some into a cup to again bide her some time to think, though her thoughts are a war all on their own. Really though, she knows the answer.   
“Giving an enemy more strategic leverage is my concern,” she rejoins.

“We’re not your enemy,” Kane interjects.

“Commander, I think you misunderstand,” Abby says, stepping forward and taking the full glass from Lexa’s hand. “We aren’t asking you to give us anything. The Mountain is already ours.”

She drains the cup, a smug expression on her face as she scrutinizes Lexa’s demeanor. Truth be known, she’s beyond nervous; she’s terrified. This girl could and would have her killed on the spot with little more than a passing glance. But she also knows that Lexa respects power, or at the very least, aggression. So, she’s putting on the bravest face that she has, doing her best to intimidate and appear unaffected, even though it’s taking a supreme effort not to tremble. She doesn’t wish to be like Lexa, but if this is all that Lexa can understand, then so be it.

Ultimately, Abby just needs to find the chink in Lexa’s armor. She believes that there must be one somewhere, some flaw that she can exploit. She keeps looking, but even now the girl is just as implacable as ever, absolutely refusing to rise to the bait. The only soft spot that she can find is Clarke, her own daughter, and she can’t conceive of going there. She recognized the affection in Lexa’s actions of the previous night. She knows what she saw and what she saw is incomprehensible. But more than that, it’s disturbing. Lexa is a monster, and Clarke may have her flaws, but she deserves so much more than an angry, cold-hearted murderer. If anything, Abby truly believes that Lexa’s affection will kill her daughter one way or another. She knows that it already has in so many ways. She won’t allow it. She’ll die first. And by the cold look in Lexa’s eyes, she believes her death may come at any minute.

“You may have killed the Mountain Men,” Lexa replies unshaken as she turns to pour another cup. “But you have yet to actually claim the mountain territories. It is within my ability to stop you.”   
Abby sets her cup on the table a little loudly. “We’ve already taken the Mountain.”

Lexa sets the pitcher down and smiles almost gently at Abby. “I thought we agreed not to insult one another.”

Abby smiles back. “Sometimes the truth is insulting.” 

Lexa’s eyes harden even more, if that were possible, and it’s Kane who explains. “We sent some people last night armed with make-shift signal generators to subdue the Reapers. They haven-”  
“The Reapers are currently being detained, and the mountain is already ours,” Abby cuts Kane off.

“I could have you killed right now,” Lexa says lowly.

Kane and Abby share a curious look before the silence that’s now dominated the tent is destroyed. “Abby…? Come in, Abby.”

Lexa’s eyes shift to the small radio on Abby’s waist and she watches as Abby lifts it to her mouth. “Go ahead, Raven.”

“Just checking in.”

“We’re fine, so far. Check back in another five minutes.”

“Copy that.”

The disembodied voice dissipates and the radio stays firmly clutched in Abby’s hand. “You could do that,” Abby says, lifting the radio to dangle it like a carrot in front of Lexa’s face. “But if I don’t check in every five minutes, you die anyway, all of you.”

Lexa feels a jolt of anger slither up her spine and her fingers twitch for the weight of her sword. 

“The way I see it, Commander, you don’t really have a choice here. You accept the terms and let us walk out of here, or not only do we kill the Reapers we’re holding, but we mark the territories you so generously mapped out for us and start launching missiles.”

Lexa gazes deeply into Abby’s eyes, disturbed by how much like Clarke’s they are because for all of the ways that they are similar, Abby’s are far more treacherous than her daughter’s. Clarke wouldn’t hold people hostage. Clarke wouldn’t be so careless, so callous. That is why she respects Clarke, why she trusts her, why she loves her. But she doesn’t feel love at this moment; she feels anger, incredible anger.

All other thoughts leave Lexa as she focuses in on Abby and Kane, trying to discern if they are telling the truth. Kane seems grieved, but that doesn’t speak of a lie. His desire to stop the fighting has been evident since the beginning. But all that Lexa can see of Abby is a desire to win, no matter how ruthless she has to become to do so. Lexa respects her more in this moment, but it changes nothing really. 

Lexa sips on her water as she reels with this information. What can she do to shut this down without giving in to these demands? If what they say is true and they have already taken the mountain, it is too late to stop it. But a small party of survivors in the mountain cannot be their biggest concern. Those still sitting in the Ark are still vulnerable.

“How many people did you send to the mountain,” she asks calmly.

“That’s none of your concern,” Abby says quickly, knowing that if given enough time, Lexa will find a way to stop their momentum. “You should consider the lives here, of your own people.”

“And you should consider yours,” Lexa says. “You aren’t leaving me many options here, Abby. If what you say is true, then you will strike out at us no matter the outcome here. My only real option is to take as many of you with us as I can. And I assure you, those left on the Ark will go with us. I’m asking you if those who will survive in the mountain are enough.”

“Those on the Ark are more prepared than you might think,” Abby says.

“Perhaps that’s true, but my answer is no. I cannot allow you that kind of power.”

“What if we were to agree to dismantle the missiles,” Kane interjects, both women turning to him with murder in their eyes.

“No,” Abby says. 

Lexa gestures to Abby and says, “You have your answer,” before turning and retaking her seat. Her heart is beating wildly in her chest as Kane and Abby proceed argue quietly, but she stills herself and focuses on the best way to protect the majority of her people. The warriors from the Trigeda, TonDC, and the KruWoda are in the forest, but those still in the territories won’t stand a chance. Even her fastest riders could not make it in time to get word to them before the missiles struck, especially not with the Ice Nation deep in the northern mountains, at least two day’s ride.

Truth be known, she would not mourn the loss of the Ice Nation. Andrea would surely not survive an attack of that magnitude without warning. With the Ice Nation gone and the three local nations surviving almost completely intact, perhaps the Sky People lashing out would not be such a bad thing, especially if she could take them down after the fact. So she considers if there is a way to use this to her advantage.

She breaks it down into pros and cons, mentally assuming the best and worst case scenarios based on the action and reaction of those involved. The worst case scenario is that the Skaikru attack now and several clans are all but annihilated, including the Reapers and the Ice Nation. She would then take down those in the Ark and make her way for the Mountain. Her two biggest enemies would fall, and while her numbers would be nearly decimated, her people would still survive. Blame would be placed on the Sky People and scrutiny removed from her. But it’s still not good enough. Does she have to sacrifice the Reapers, the Western nation, Southern nation, or the old and young that still remain in the TonDC, the Trigeda, and the KruWoda? 

The best case scenario is that she buys some time with the Skaikru. If she could get word to the clans, they could all be evacuated. She could send word to the Ice Nation, but only someone trusted, someone who wants to take down the Sky People and can keep a secret. That warning wouldn’t make it in time by design and Lexa would still lose her two biggest foes, but retain most of her people. Polis wasn’t laid out on the map, so they would survive as well, and the Reapers would be rehabilitated. 

No, she doesn’t have to sacrifice many at all if she can play this right.

She would have to sacrifice Clarke though. 

But the Sky People refused her offer of inclusion. By agreeing to this treaty, she is under no obligation not to attack later by their own design. She can placate the Skaikru and use that time to learn the mountain. The acid fog is gone. She already knows this. She was with Clarke when Bellamy destroyed it. She read the desperation in Cage’s eyes when he came to her. If the Sky People do not attack now, they lose all of their leverage and they will learn that threatening her and her people is folly. She just needs to ensure that they don’t until it’s too late for them.

And when it’s too late, like a snake in waiting, she will lash out and destroy them. 

But Clarke…

Another betrayal would mean the end, but is this not a betrayal of Clarke’s people? Is this not asking too much, demanding too much? Could Clarke understand? Would she even survive?

Lexa’s stomach swirls as her heart rages against her mind. Again she wonders why what needs to happen can’t be the right thing, the easy thing. Again she wonders how much loss and suffering she will have to bring on these people, on herself, on Clarke, before something feels right. She knows that there’s no going back from this. If she follows through with this plan, Clarke is truly lost to her, and that’s assuming that Clarke’s not already. 

She looks at Abby and Kane, studying them, looking for another choice but finding none. These people are the enemy, no matter how much she cares for the loss of life or Clarke. No attachment will ever be enough to stop what’s already been set in motion. And she hates it. She hates how it feels and what it makes her do. She hates herself, and in doing so, she knows that there are no options anymore.   
It’s win or lose. 

She remembers the words that her mother used to say when she was very young, “In life we are all either kings or pawns, emperors or fools.” 

Just remembering her mother, being with her, especially at such a young age, is enough to remind Lexa of who she is, where she comes from, and what she was born and raised to do. But the words, though she never really understood them before, now make a lasting impression. The strong build their lives on the weak. The strong live because the weak die. And that’s how it has to be. That’s how Lexa has to be if she intends to be one of the strong ones, one of the survivors.

She motions to one of her warriors to come close, hating her heart for its incessant bleeding and throbbing, and shuts it away as she speaks in their native tongue. “Send our fastest riders to the Northern, Southern, and Eastern clans and order them to abandon their territories. They can take to the edges of the wastes and wait. They will need to do so quietly. They cannot be seen or heard. I will speak with their heads in a week’s time in Polis to give further instruction.”

“And the Northern clans,” he asks in a whisper.

“Bring me Indra.”

“Yes, Heda.”

The man leaves and Abby’s radio crackles as she checks in yet again. Once the conversation stills, Lexa takes this opportunity to put her plans into motion. 

“I want to make sure that I understand the terms of your treaty,” she says, standing. They both give her their attention and she chooses her words carefully. “You are choosing to deny our offer of inclusion and protection. You wish to remain separate from us, completely. As such, you may or may not attack at will at a later time should you decide, but you will attack now if I don’t agree.”

“Yes,” Abby says resolutely, shutting off any additional outbursts from Kane. 

“You’re certain that you wish to do this?”

“Yes,” Abby says again.

“Commander, Abby, this is-,” Kane tries again.

“Enough, Marcus,” Abby cuts him off yet again. 

“You’re going to get us all killed, Abby,” he finishes.

“We have the mountain. We’ll be fine.” And as these words leave Abby’s mouth, she looks pointedly at Lexa, driving her threat home. 

Lexa gives a slight, crooked smile, letting her heart shrivel and die just a little more in the face of what she plans to do, even as she lets her prey turn and walk away with their lives intact. She’s okay with it for now, because she’s patient, because she’s smart, because she’s neither a fool nor a pawn, no matter how Clarke would see her soft. 

“Okay,” Lexa says. “The Mountain is yours and you’re free to go.”

Abby is a little taken aback, and she knows that Lexa has something up her sleeve, but what could she possibly do that wouldn’t see her people destroyed?

“You- you agree,” Kane asks.

“Yes,” Lexa says.

Silence falls but Lexa wishes this to be over so that she can be alone to harden herself against what she knows is coming. It’s done. It’s over. Like Costia, she will sacrifice Clarke, and by extension, herself.  
The tent flaps are thrown back and Indra is led inside, a baleful expression on her severe face. 

“Please escort our guests back to the Ark,” Lexa orders her warriors. 

They do as bid but Kane stops at the opening to the tent. “You won’t regret this,” he says before following after Abby.

Lexa can’t help but think that he will, but she focuses her attention on Indra who is seething at the ground at her feet, her hands tied behind her. Lexa pulls her dagger from her waist and releases the warrior.

“Relax, Indra,” she says. “You’re going to get your war.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be sure to rate and leave feedback before moving on.
> 
> All my fic, including other fandoms, is available on my blog. You can follow me on Twitter, Tumblr, and email me via vaginawig@yahoo.com.


	6. Knowledge is not Understanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Understanding isn’t always the predecessor to knowledge. Sometimes, we learn about things before we understand them. And usually when that happens, we’re learning about things that we shouldn’t know about at all, at least not if the one hundred year-old fairytales of suburban life are in any way true.
> 
> She should know how to clean a home and cook a meal, not how to fire a gun and kill a person. She should know how to raise children, not torture the Red from a Reaper. She should be there when her parents are old and help them that last peaceful step into mortality, not what it’s like to watch her father sucked into a vacuous void to boil to death in an oxygen free atmosphere.
> 
> But that’s not the world she lives in. She knows what she knows and she understands little. Some things just are, like the air and the water and the earth.
> 
> Like her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See chapter 1 for disclaimers.
> 
> All my fic, including other fandoms, is available on my blog. You can also follow me on Tumblr, Twitter, and email me through vaginawig@yahoo.com.
> 
> Please leave lots of feedback, especially if it's constructively critical. I write because I love it, but I post because I wish to get better. Your thoughts are invaluable to me!

Clarke’s eyelids scrape against her eyes like sandpaper when she tries to open them. They’re crusted and so heavy that it’s as if anvils have been tied to her lashes. Her whole body feels heavy like that, and reluctant to come out of the utter bliss of unconsciousness. But her arms lift her hands to her sockets to clean them, further pulling her up from the dark depths of sleep and into the waking light. And she regrets it, because that first real glimpse of light brings a throbbing headache into awareness.

  
And that’s all it takes for her brain to start taking a painful inventory. Her head feels like it’s been packed with cotton and razor blades, her blood replaced with a thick sludge. The landscape of her skin stings with random lacerations that have scabbed over and are pulling taut, but these small cuts are the least of her aches. Her leg… she almost can’t find words. It feels like someone took a sledgehammer to the meat, turning it into a bloody pulp of singing nerves. And the bone inside feels like someone is grinding a saw against it with every pump of her heart.

  
Her heart… it may be the very worst of her aches. It feels hollow, but it’s the kind of emptiness that pangs and makes itself known. It’s as if the wounds dotting the muscled flesh aren’t bleeding outwards, but inwards, touching the vacant spaces inside and filling them with a unique agony.

  
Everything hurts, and just like before she feels the need to move, to try and get away from herself, to try and get out of herself. This is the same desire that sent her seeking solace in the woods the night that the Mountain fell. But it did no good then, and it would do no good now, especially when the thought of moving is almost as anguished as a physical attempt.

  
She just can’t. She’s helpless, exposed, and trapped like a turtle on its back. So she lies still and lets her mind find its pace, to catch up with itself and all of the negative stimuli engulfing her.

  
“I was beginning to think that you weren’t going to wake up.”

  
The voice is low, gravelly, that of an enemy that became a friend, and she finds the strength to turn her head and blink the bleariness from her eyes until his dark shape comes into view.  
“Be-,” she tries but her voice cracks and fades.

  
She clears her throat but it’s no use. It’s too dry. She licks at her lips and grimaces at the cloying taste of dry copper in the corners of her mouth. Her lips are chapped and her tongue and teeth feel like they’re made of gravel.

  
“Here,” that same voice says and she feels something cool and wet against her lips.

  
Without thinking she opens her mouth and begins to gulp at the water. It rushes in torrents down her parched esophagus with a strange relief that quickly turns sour when it hits her stomach. She turns away and coughs, laying her head back on the pillow to let a spell of dizziness pass.

  
“Bellamy,” she says, her voice still rough but now audible.

  
“Heya, Princess,” he says. “I’d ask how you feel, but…” Clarke watches as he gives her the once over. “If how you look is any indication…,” he finishes with a smirk.

  
Clarke smiles, a choking laugh bubbling for just an instant before she regrets it.

  
“Don’t make me laugh,” she says.

  
“Sorry… not sorry,” he replies.

  
The levity lasts another moment before his dirt smudged face becomes serious again.

  
“How are you really,” he asks.

  
Clarke has to wonder for a moment why every question is so loaded. Why can’t it ever be easy or, at the very least, straight forward? She wishes that someone would just once ask her what color the sky is or what year it is, just something that has an answer that she doesn’t have to struggle with.

  
This question isn’t a simple one, of course. Her body is a heinous ball of pain, but she knows that this isn’t what he’s asking. He wants to talk about that empty, squeezing, torn lump of muscle hiding behind her ribs. And honestly, she has no problem telling him that she’s not okay. Bellamy is the sort of person that, once you get passed all of the bravado and posturing, can be truly decent. He just needs a push in the right direction. Left to his own devices though… Well, if nothing else, he can keep a secret. Besides, he already knows that she’s not okay. He knew the night that she left, and he was the only one that she told.

  
She’s not sure why she chose him. Maybe it’s because he was just there, or maybe it’s because she has grown to depend on him so much, or maybe it’s because she cares for him deeply. Or, maybe, it’s because he’s the only one on earth who knows the darkness that she carries in her heart. He shares it. He was there, his hand holding hers as she did something monstrous. Whatever the reason, the willingness to share is there, she just doesn’t know what to say.

  
She doesn’t know how she feels. Maybe she feels nothing or maybe she feels so much that she can’t figure it out, but either way, it’s all convoluted and confusing. Somehow though, seeing him there, above her, a smirk on his mouth and the tell-tale warmth in his eyes, she feels better. It’s as if that familiarity is healing a little of her hopelessness, and she has to wonder why she was running from it.

  
She can’t help but wonder if it was really bad enough to leave the people she’s come to love, her family, the one hundred. She searches his eyes and easily finds that brokenness that only the two of them share because only they understand what it means to commit genocide. He tries to hide it, but it’s only thinly concealed behind the veil of this dark lashes. And he can see it in her too. Maybe others wouldn’t pick up on it, but she has to turn away from him because of it.

  
She can’t look at him, and that’s why she had to leave. It’s not because of him or the others, though they’re part of it. She had to leave because she can’t handle the shame that she feels within herself. No matter what’s true, every look, every murmur about a person no longer here, she is reminded of what she’s done and who she’s become.

  
She lifts her heavy head and tries to focus on her leg, to make sure that it’s still there, and it’s with relief that she finds it intact. It looks normal for the most part, if not for the splint and bandages that have added bulk and the deep purplish bruising that makes it looks almost surreal.

  
Unfortunately, shame or not, there will be no running this time.

  
She lays her head back down, immediately tired even after so little effort.

  
She still doesn’t know what to say to him, but she can feel him staring at her, expecting something from her. She doesn’t understand how he can stand to look at her, but she knows that she has to say something to appease him.

  
“I’ll be okay, one way or another,” she says.

  
He nods and sits back down in the chair that he was in before she awoke and she closes her eyes, wishing that she were still asleep.

 

“What happened to you,” he asks. “Lexa said that you fell, but no one believes her. Did the Grounders do this to you?”

  
She frowns and shakes her head no, but then she’s not so sure. She tries to remember what happened and how she got back to the Ark. There are large chunks of time missing in her memory, vague images of the forest and then voices and then the healer’s hut at TonDC. And of course she remembers her talk with Lexa. It would seem that the Commander stands out even when under the effects of duress and delirium.

  
Lexa’s always had that effect on Clarke. She’s stiff in posture and harsh in her demeanor, but there is an undercurrent to it all, as if Clarke can tell that she wishes to be gentle but truly believes that she can’t and shouldn’t. It’s almost as if she’s an innocent - someone trapped - a slave under the whip of her own command. If ever there were a physical representation of the caged bird cliché, Lexa would be it, only it’s worse than that because not only has she bound herself up, she’s bound herself in a cage far too small.

  
Whatever Lexa’s reasons are for doing that to herself, it draws Clarke in and makes her want to help. But every time that she tries, she’s attacked and forced to retreat and leave Lexa helpless in her suffering. But more than that, every time she tries, not only does she lose someone she cares about, she loses an important part of herself. It’s as if to know Lexa is to be shaped, and molded, and ultimately, destroyed by her.  
Honestly, it infuriates Clarke. She knows that should hate Lexa, and she really wants to, but for all that she says and does to placate that desire, the truth of the matter is that she doesn’t, she can’t, not even when she should. It was the same story with Wells, with Bellamy, with Finn, with Murphy, and even with her mother. She gets angry. She refuses to allow the object of that anger the peace of knowing that she’s forgiven them, but she’s forgiven them all the same.

  
“I-I fell,” she says. “I think... it’s all so blurry.”

  
Bellamy looks down at the dirty hands in his lap and fidgets with his fingers. The curls of his long hair hide the majority of his face in shadow as he nods his head.

  
“Are you okay,” she asks of him.

  
He looks back up at her but she doesn’t return his gaze, choosing instead to pick herself up just a little and focus on the cuts and scrapes that line her skin. They’re mostly healed, pink and thin, the scabs flaking away. Most of them were merely scrapes where the brambles caught her on her way down and ultimately saved her life by breaking the majority of her fall. Some of them needed stitches though. She can tell by the zipper like scar of a straight line with small dots along the sides. But the stitches are long gone and the cuts almost closed.

  
She can’t remember why she’d fallen, but something niggles at the back of her mind.

  
“A lot’s changed since you left, Clarke.”

  
Clarke finally looks over at him. He’s staring at the floor now as if it will open and swallow him whole.

  
“Like what,” she asks.

  
He doesn’t speak and some dark emotion flits over his semi-hidden features. She finds it to be a little frightening. As if he’s okay with being swallowed up.

 

“Bellamy,” she asks again, snapping him out of it.

  
He runs his hands through his hair and gets to his feet.

  
“Bellamy, what’s going on?”

  
“Things just aren’t like they used to be.”

  
“What does that mean,” she asks again, trying to sit up to talk to him.

 

“Come on, Clarke,” he exclaims. “Everything- every-one is… different.”

  
Clarke’s mind whirrs as she watches her friend struggle with some manic, unreadable emotion. And for all that she doesn’t understand of what he’s saying, she really does get it. Understanding isn’t always the predecessor to knowledge. Sometimes, we learn about things before we understand them. And usually when that happens, we’re learning about things that we shouldn’t know about at all, at least not if the one hundred year-old fairytales of suburban life are in any way true.

  
She should know how to clean a home and cook a meal, not how to fire a gun and kill a person. She should know how to raise children, not torture the Red from a Reaper. She should be there when her parents are old and help them that last peaceful step into mortality, not what it’s like to watch her father sucked into a vacuous void to boil to death in an oxygen free atmosphere.

  
But that’s not the world she lives in. She knows what she knows and she understands little. Some things just are, like the air and the water and the earth.

  
Like her.

  
Clarke hates it, but she’s grown to accept it. That was something else that she and Bellamy had in common. But right here, right now, he’s not coping with that knowledge. Something’s different - off. It’s like she’s missed something and he’s trying to say it without actually saying it. It’s making her uncomfortable, making her feel shameful. Again, she can’t look at him so she focuses on her leg this time. The color of the bruises would suggest time and healing beyond that of a good night’s sleep.

  
“Bellamy, how long have I been asleep?”

  
He doesn’t speak and again she can feel the weight of his stare.

  
“Bellamy,” Clarke tries again, this time braving to look at his face.

  
And she can see that something’s poised on the tip of his tongue but he’s not saying it. He’s trying to swallow it and it’s choking him. Frustrated, she scans the room for something that will give her a firm grip on what’s going on, but this new information only compounds problems in Clarke’s mind. She was at the Ark when she passed out. But the stark, white, sterile walls of the Mountain facility stare back at her and make her feel sick.

  
“Bellamy, how long have I been asleep,” she tries a little louder.

  
He diverts his eyes and clears his throat. “Uh, about a week.”

  
“What,” Clarke asks as she sits up straighter and tries to swing her legs to the side of the bed. “A week…?”

  
Bellamy steps in front of her and places a gentle hand to her shoulder to stop her.

  
“Come on, Clarke. Just relax. You’re going to make yourself worse.”

  
“Why have I been down a week?”

  
The look that Bellamy gives Clarke tells her that he knows the answers to her questions but he won’t say a word if she doesn’t sit back. With a sigh, she reluctantly nods her head in agreement to his unspoken request but she doesn’t move back any, even when he eases his grip on her. And he doesn’t move away any either, and there’s this moment where he’s close to her, where he’s almost holding her, and he finds that he doesn’t want to let her go. Even when she looks like a broken doll that’s been glued back together, he finds her to be beautiful. But more than that, he knows how exceptionally strong she is. Truth be known, he’s missed her fiercely.

  
He berates himself for feeling that way about Clarke. There’s no way that she would ever consider him, and for good reason. He’s the boy that made her life hell when they landed, the one who wouldn’t listen and worshiped anarchy. He’s the boy that, when he’s honest with himself, once tried to drop her to a messy death but, at the last minute, decided not to. He’s betrayed her again, and just like then, he has no idea how to tell her.

  
How do you tell someone that you love that you’ve wronged them on purpose? Is it really valid when you believe that you did the right thing for them even when you know that they don’t agree? He knows that Clarke won’t see it any other way. Even he has trouble reconciling it. What’s worse is that he owes her. It was her kindness that helped him get past most of his anger when they first landed.

  
He’s selfish and he knows it, but he wants her, even when he doesn’t deserve her. He’s not a good person. He’s nothing like Finn. For all of her trouble, his anger is still there. He knows that he’s still capable of terrible things because he does them daily, not just to others but to her. He keeps convincing himself that these terrible things aren’t so bad, or that they’re unfortunate but necessary.

  
But the truth is that he’s wrong. He just can’t admit it because he needs something to be simple, and as such, he knows that everything about him is steeped in perfidy. Even he doesn’t trust himself, so why should anyone else, let alone Clarke?

  
Clarke looks up at him, an inscrutable look on her face because neither of them can tell what she wants in this moment. She’s bruised and scraped and smudged with dirt and he just wants to kiss her. He can’t help but wonder what it could hurt if she decided that she didn't like it. She couldn’t possibly think any worse of him than he thinks of himself. Besides, it’s not like she’d have the strength to hurt him even if she did try to slap him.

  
And she’d try to slap him. Both of them are sure of that…

  
A scream pierces through the wall to their left and both of them jump. Bellamy releases Clarke and together they stare at the wall in awkward silence. There’s no window to the other room. They can’t see anything except for the tasteful Monet that’s seems exquisitely out of place with its riot of color against the sterility of the wall. While the sound worries and frightens Clarke, Bellamy is unfazed by it and that’s all the more unsettling for her.

  
“What the hell’s going on, Bellamy?”

  
He looks at her again as the screams become tortured whimpers.

  
“The Reapers,” he says.

  
This makes sense to Clarke so she relaxes just a little. “The rehabilitation’s working?”

  
“For the most part,” Bellamy says. “But we only caught a handful of them. The minute they saw us, they ran into the tunnels and collapsed the roof. They were ready for us. We only found a little of the Red on the ones that we caught, so we assume they stowed the whole cache down there.”

  
“They knew you were coming,” I ask.

  
He nods. “They may be feral, but they’re smart, and when it comes to their drugs and their food…” Both of them grimace. “They’re organized.”

  
Clarke is almost surprised by this news, but after thinking about it, it seems realistic to her. The Reapers don’t fight each other, only outsiders. They were docile with the Mountain men while getting their injections, and they worked the tunnels as a crew despite the monstrous effects of the drug. It’s reasonable that they’re sentient enough to find a way to keep their supply and freedom.

  
Clarke’s definitely regretting waking up now. It’s as if everything is getting worse by the minute. The agreement with the Grounders was contingent on this one thing, and that one thing isn’t as easy as it should be.

  
“Does the treaty still stand?”

  
Bellamy’s face falls.

  
“Bellamy…”

  
“Clarke, there’s been a slight… change of plan.”

  
“What happened,” she asks urgently.

  
“We didn’t take the treaty.”

  
“What,” Clarke almost shouts. “Why?!”

  
A glint of anger sharpens Bellamy’s eyes. His posture becomes more rigid and he sets his jaw.

  
“Lexa wanted to rule us, to become some sort of… Queen,” he says the last word with no small amount of venom. “Did you really think that we would agree to that, Clarke?” He looks at her with utter incredulity. “Were you really willing to agree to that?”

  
Angry tears well in Clarke’s eyes. “Of course I didn’t want to do that, but there’s no other way to stop all of this nonsense. So yes, I thought that you, the others, and the rest of our people would put peace before pride.”

  
“Pride,” he repeats with offense. “It has nothing to do with pride.” He assumes an angry stance, looking right into her eyes and pointing at the ground with each of his arguments to emphasize them. “She’s been trying to kill us since we landed, she’s killed countless numbers of us, and she betrayed us and left us to die, Clarke! And now she wants to rule us?!”

  
He shakes his head and breaks his posture. “No, this isn’t about pride. It’s about survival. And she will have us all in chains or dead before she’s satisfied. And you…” He gestures to her in a defeated way. “You’ll let her.”

  
The anger coursing through Clarke’s veins isn’t all for Bellamy. Part of her is angry at Lexa because part of her feels the same way that he does. And it would be so easy to give in to his logic. It would allow her to draw a line in the sand and pick a side. She wouldn’t have to feel guilty or worried about what happens to the Grounders, to Lexa. She could just hate and act on that hate, and oddly enough, they’d probably win. It would be easy. So, so easy…

  
But Clarke can’t do it. She can’t stop caring. She keeps making these mistakes, letting people die for no reason, and they’re innocent people. She has to stop it; she needs to stop it, if not for peace’s sake, then for her own conscience. She straightens up and sets the line of her own jaw. “So what, Bellamy? They hurt us so we hurt them until one or all of us are dead? Is that how it’s going to be?”

  
He takes a deep breath and softens a little, though he’s still intensely serious.

 

“No, Clarke. We’re going to end this.”

  
Clarke feels shaky as she asks, “What does that mean?”

  
Bellamy takes a seat and looks down at the floor, his voice taking on a clinical detachment as he explains.

  
“The council wasn’t going to submit to Lexa, so Abby pushed back. She told Lexa that we would be moving into the Mountain and remain free of the Grounders. We’d still take care of the Reapers, but that was more for our benefit than theirs.”

  
Clarke scoffs. “There’s no way that Lexa would allow that…”

  
Bellamy agrees, looking up at Clarke from under his lashes. “No, she wasn’t going to.” His eyes harden. “She threatened to kill Abby and Kane where they stood for suggesting it, but Abby was prepared. She told Lexa that they’d already sent a party to the Mountain to clear it and if the Grounders didn’t let us relocate peacefully, we’d kill the Reapers and blow them to hell with another missile.”

  
Clarke’s heart nearly stops beating as it takes up residence in her throat. With every word out of Bellamy’s mouth, her people are more and more damned, and all because of their own hubris.

  
“It was a lie, but Lexa let us go,” he says with a shrug. “She didn’t have a choice.”

  
“Lexa won’t stand for that,” Clarke replies angrily. “We’ve signed our own death warrant.”

  
And with those words, Clarke leans back heavily against the headboard of her bed, finding no way to get her people out of the twisted mess they’ve created. She was asleep for an entire week and helpless to stop it. It’s as if she’d been taken out of the picture by fate.

  
“Yes,” Bellamy agrees again. “But fortunately for us, we don’t need them to leave us in peace. We’re here. We have the missiles. And as soon as we’re done salvaging the Ark for scrap and relocating everything, we’re going to release a planned strike against all of their territories.”

  
This is the Bellamy that Clarke remembers: petulant and selfish, willing to sacrifice any and every one for his own agenda, even when he knows that he’s wrong. And by the way that it’s his turn divert his eyes in shame, he must know that he’s wrong.

  
"My mother won't let that happen..."

  
His expression becomes pity. "Clarke, she's the Chancellor..."

  
Clarke almost feels numb with that declaration. Apparently her people, her mother, they all feel the same way.

  
“Even Kane,” she asks absently.

  
“No,” Bellamy says. "He still wants to become the 13th tribe."

  
That’s a small comfort to her. At least one person has kept their mind in this mess, though it's obviously been for nothing.

  
“Why didn’t he stop this? Mom would listen to him.”

  
Bellamy sighs. “Kane was outvoted. He tried to commit treason and he’s being held for his crimes and awaiting trial. Abby’s not sure how to deal with him yet.”

  
All of that comfort that she was just feeling is gone. That leaves only her, and with a busted leg what can she possibly do? She has no way to get word to Lexa. Her frustration is so great that she wants to hit something. She could have stopped it if she’d had a chance, if she’d been awake. Why wasn’t she awake?

  
Something cold and sick coils in the pit of her stomach as she realizes that Bellamy and her mother would have known that she’d stand in the way just like Kane. And while Abby would do what she needed to do, even float her own husband, she would do everything she could to stop Clarke from getting in the way in the first place.

  
“Why did I sleep for a week,” Clarke asks.

  
“Clarke…”

  
“Why did I sleep that long? I had already slept and woken up, so it wasn’t the concussion. I should have woken up…”

  
“Clarke…”

  
“What did you do, Bellamy?”

  
He sighs, knowing that he can’t lie to her successfully. “What we had to, Clarke…”

  
Suddenly she feels very alone, and honestly, very scared. She can’t trust anyone - not Bellamy, Jasper, Monty, not even her mother...

  
“What did you do to me,” she asks in a small but angry voice.

  
He exhales. “Indra gave O some mossy stuff that the Grounders use as a sedative.”

  
“Octavia is helping you,” she asks surprised.

  
“No,” he says. “I swiped it from her before she escaped.”

  
“Escaped…?”

  
Bellamy nods, his eyes refusing to meet Clarke’s.

  
“You locked up your own sister, and Kane, and you drugged me…” He nods again, still diverting his eyes. “Is there anything else I need to know about? I mean, you’re about to murder an entire continent full of people for no reason. You’re clearly capable of anything…”

  
At this he finally looks at her. His eyes are sad, almost black they’re so deep and almost glinting they’re so sharp. It hurts Clarke to think that she trusted him. And it hurts him to know that he's killing what little of her trust there was in the first place. It would seem to her that no one cares anymore but he does. He hates it just as much as she does.

  
Unlike her, he could do something about it.

  
It would seem to Clarke that the radiation made monsters of what was left after the world’s destruction. Clarke wants to reach over and rip the IV from her arm and run as fast and far away from him, from Lexa, from her mother, from the Mountain, from this whole situation, as possible. But she can’t. And she knows that any sudden movement, word, even the faintest of suggestions of leaving will get her locked up too.

  
Or maybe worse…

  
But she still needs to try.

  
She glances around at the white walls and has to release a humorless laugh at the irony of her situation. Her people belong in this place. They’re just like the Mountain men: cruel and foolish. And just like them, she’s just as trapped in this bunker. She can do nothing. All she has left is words.

  
“This is wrong, Bellamy, and you know it.”

  
“No, Clarke, it’s not wrong to survive.”

  
“We don’t need to do this to survive!”

  
“You said it yourself, Lexa won’t let it go. There’s no other way.”

  
She stares him down, willing herself to see the good in him again, to find it and tap into it. That’s how she’s always done it before. Reason and logic don’t work so well with Bellamy because compassion has no reason or logic. It’s senseless to do good. It’s thankless and there are no real rewards. Mostly though, it’s dangerous. When you love someone, when you help them and try for them and sacrifice for them, you open yourself to be irrevocably damaged, you open yourself to uncertainty.

  
Surely some piece of that is still alive in him?

  
“Bellamy, listen to me. You don’t have to do this. Help me get out of here. Help me get to Lexa. I can fix this.”

  
“Clarke, don’t talk like that. It’s treason.”

  
“It’s reason, Bellamy, and you know it. No one has to die!”

  
For a moment she believes that she’s reached him because he lowers his head and takes a few long minutes to do what she can only assume is consider what she’s said. But when he faces her again, she knows by the sickly sad look in his eyes that his need for safety has come first. And he knows that he’s just a coward who wants an easy way out for the people he loves. And both of them know that knowledge isn’t always understanding.

  
Neither of them understand why this particular issue is the way that it is, but that doesn’t change the reality of the situation.

  
“Where’s Abby,” Clarke asks, choosing to stare into her lap. Only this time she looks away not in her own shame, but because she can't bear to look at his.

  
“She’s next door with that Reaper. She’ll be here to see you as soon as she’s done.”

  
“Good. You can leave then.”

  
“Clarke, you know as well as I do that sometimes you have to kill to survive.“

  
He puts his hand on top of hers just like he did in the control room when they opened the doors, and just like that, his shame is hers too and she can’t help but consider those words to be a calculated move on his part. She closes her eyes, yanks her hand away, and chokes on the lump in her throat, for the loss of her friend, of her family, of any semblance of a peaceful life.

  
“I said you can leave,” she says quietly.

  
“Clarke, please…”

  
“I said go!”

  
With that, she looks over and stares hard at him. And for that instant that he looks back, she can see this twisted sense of remorse in his eyes. It’s just not enough for her, and it won’t be until he stops this. He has a choice, right then and there. She gives him a chance to redeem himself in that instant. But he looks away ashamed, gets slowly to his feet, and quietly exits the room, the door snapping shut behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be sure to leave kudos and feedback.
> 
> You can read all of my fiction for multiple fandoms at my blog: www.fictionforlesbians.wordpress.com
> 
> You might want to check out this Clexa kiss video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1_j5bOT2HFg


	7. Right and Wrong are More than a Breath Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is what Clarke is trying to explain to her, what Clarke fully understands, and what Abby rejects in the face of her emotions for Clarke because without good reason, Clarke is just more important than anyone else in the eyes of her mother. And while that fills her with love and appreciation for her parent, she knows, unequivocally, that neither of them would be able to reconcile it after it was done. Nothing would be preserved but breath itself, and for humans, that’s just not enough. Breathing is not enough, when right and wrong are more than a breath apart.

This time, when Clarke wakes up, it’s abrupt and alarming. She jerks up, her nose twitching with the smell of something sour and sulfuric tingling in her nasal cavity. It slowly burns a path to her brain. Her head, already pounding, causes her vision to swim and her stomach revolts. She’s only barely able to throw her head to the side to release the runny, meager contents of her stomach onto the hard, white concrete of the floor, a small, chalk green tube coming up with it.

Once her stomach calms, maybe a minute or so later, she chokes down big gulps of air as her last memory catches up to her present awareness. It’s almost as if no time has passed since the last moment that Clarke was awake. Abby’s still standing in much the same place that she was when she stole Clarke’s consciousness the last time, looking exactly the same with her uncompromising posture and severe face.   
Clarke wants to hate her, especially when Abby puts an arm out and offers a cup of what might be water. Her throat aches and she wants to gulp it down, but she knows better. Last time she took a cup from her mother she passed out, and all of it happened before she’d even had a chance to say a word. Bellamy must have clued Abby in. 

“How long was I out this time,” she asks Abby with obvious anger, her throat scratchy.

“Two weeks,” Abby says.

Clarke closes her eyes and clenches her jaw, unsure if it’s to keep herself from snapping out and striking the woman that gave her life, or to stop the flood of tears that wish to dribble out of her eyes.  
“You’ve robbed me of three weeks…”

“I did what I had to do to keep you safe.”

“Safe,” Clarke says sharply. “You drug me for three weeks, knowing that I can’t run even if I want to, all to keep me safe?”

“Yes,” Abby says matter-of-factly.

Clarke’s mouth falls open as she tries to comprehend the madness that has become humanity, if she can even call her people humans anymore, and Abby takes a seat on the edge of the bed, softening a little as her shoulders slump and she releases a sigh. There’s a gentleness in her eyes that belies her obvious anger, and Clarke grudgingly accepts the cup, inspecting it closely.

“Clarke, it’s just water.”

“This time,” Clarke replies bitterly, taking a hesitant sip.

Abby speaks while Clarke drinks. “Clarke, you have to understand, it’s treason to warn our enemies, to even just to talk about it. If the others on the council knew, they’d want you imprisoned, publicly whipped, and at this point, maybe even executed. I’ve had a hard enough time trying to convince them to spare Kane’s life. I can’t go through that with you, not again.”

“Then don’t.”

Abby looks directly at Clarke, her eyes always capable of piercing her daughter to the core with their earnest conviction. And it’s this conviction that Clarke finds in them now, telling her that what Abby says in this moment is neither negotiable nor false.

“I don’t plan to, Clarke. You’re my daughter. I love you. I’d do anything for you, including drug you. And if you don’t stop all of this talk about leaving to warn the Grounders, I’ll drug you again, and again if I have to. I woke you up to see if you could get yourself under control. If you can’t, well, I’ll just wait until after… it’s all done… to wake you up again.”

“After you’ve murdered thousands of innocent peop-“

“As it stands,” Abby interrupts as if Clarke’s said nothing. “We’re roughly a week away from finishing the salvage of the Ark. I can keep you asleep until it’s over, and then it won’t matter either way.”

“No, by then you’ll have killed an entire race of people. The blood of thousands of people will be on your hands, and trust me, that’s not something you want to live with.”

“Clarke, you did what you had to do to protect your people, to protect me. I didn’t fully understand that before, but I do now. I judged you then, and it was wrong of me. I’m sorry for that. I should have seen it for what it was and thanked you…”

“What it was, was murder.”

“No, it was love.”

Clarke snorts. “You want thank me,” Clarke nearly shouts. “For killing people? With love?”

“Yes, for killing people who were killing us.”

“Mom, that’s just… I was wrong. Don’t you get it? I can barely look at myself in the mirror anymore. Do you really want to follow my example?”

And as the words leave Clarke’s mouth, she realizes that they’re true, that her mother is doing no more or less than what she did. She is forced to ask herself if she would drug her mother to keep her safe from her own actions, and without a doubt, just a few months ago, it would be true. She would do whatever it took to keep her mother safe, just like it was with her father. That’s how this whole mess started. She was trying to protect her father. Abby was trying to protect Clarke by telling Jaha about what her father was planning, and all it did was get her father floated and Clarke imprisoned and exiled. 

And then the Mountain Men… Clarke’s need to protect those that she loves drove her to unspeakable lengths. There was little recourse for this action because it was so extreme that it annihilated her enemy, an enemy trying to protect its own people. They were no worse for what they were doing, not really. When she cuts to the truth of the matter, everyone is just trying to protect the ones that they love. And the end result is always the same: some live, some die, but no one escapes.

All of these strategic moves never do any good. It’s always bloody and futile because all of that work to save someone who doesn’t wish to be saved is pointless. People have a will of their own. If, by some small chance, you do get lucky and you do manage to protect the one you love, there is always someone hurt by that salvation, hurt to the point of hurting you back in the extreme until no one’s left. It’s a cycle, and it never ends until someone is smart enough to stop seeking revenge. And sometimes, they even have to forego justice. Someone has to be willing to take the hit and do nothing, to turn the other cheek and let it sting, possibly forever. 

Someone has to let what they love go, and do nothing to stop it.

Clarke wasn’t willing to do that before what happened on Mount Weather. But she’s learned a thing or two since then, about people and about herself. Now, she’s willing to do that, because she understands that there’s no other reasonable way to do what’s right. And what’s right never, under any circumstances, feels good. 

But Abby can’t know that. She can’t understand her daughter any more than she can understand the cool indifference of Lexa’s command because she’s never been in the position of having to take one poison or another. She can’t know that saving Clarke and their people is poison. It seems like the best choice, the most logical, but both are just as destructive, just as hideous and choking. Clarke knows that both options are bitter, but only one can leave you crippled with guilt. It means a loss of conscience, a loss of innocence, and a loss of one’s own soul to do what Abby is planning to do, what Clarke has already done. And she doesn’t want her mother to know that grief.

This is what Clarke is trying to explain to her, what Clarke fully understands, and what Abby rejects in the face of her emotions for Clarke because without good reason, Clarke is just more important than anyone else in the eyes of her mother. And while that fills her with love and appreciation for her parent, she knows, unequivocally, that neither of them would be able to reconcile it after it was done. Nothing would be preserved but breath itself, and for humans, that’s just not enough. Breathing is not enough, when right and wrong are more than a breath apart.

“Mom, just stop! Don’t you see that if we keep ‘protecting’ ourselves the way the Grounders do, we’re just going in circles? They hurt us; we hurt them, and no one survives, not really. This can’t end until we stop playing these games with each other.”

“You know as well as I do, Clarke, that the Grounders, that Lexa, is not willing to do that. And if we do, they’ll kill us all. Is that really what you want?”

“She offered to make us the 13th tribe. What more of a guarantee do you want?”

“Right, she’ll put us under her thumb. Our values are different, Clarke, and there is no trust between us. We don’t want to live like them, and even if we did, they’ve made it clear that we’re expendable.”

“She was willing to let us govern ourselves.”

“Until she decides to turn us over to some gruesome fate, just like she’s already done.”

Clarke thinks about that for a moment and she recognizes the truth in her mother’s words. Lexa and her people are too proud to step down to even a minimum of insult, and they’d sacrifice their own, let alone the newcomers, if they deemed it necessary. She’s seen Lexa strike a man down for even speaking to her without permission, and Lexa drug her out of TonDC, knowingly leaving the whole of that tribe to die in fire. And yes, the reasons were sound. It’s better to kill some than it is to kill more, but in the grand scheme, no one had to die, not even the Mountain Men. They just wouldn’t stop… none of them. And it’s infuriating to be the only one willing to lift her eyes to see that the sky is falling. 

Clarke is forced to wonder how they can turn a cheek and survive it with people so dedicated to this particularly vicious cycle.

“I don’t want anyone to die, mom.”

“Then give me a better option. Tell me that Lexa and the Grounders will leave us in peace, because unless I know that for certain, I don’t see another way. We strike, or they strike, and whoever does it first, survives.”

Clarke knows that her mother is right, but she can’t live with it. She can’t survive for the sake of it. She just can’t. Survival means nothing when it’s poised on a precarious cliff of self-loathing and doubt. What’s it worth to live if there’s no life in it? With options like that, there’s no point to anything. If nothing else, she has to try to stop it, to find a way that is better, to find a life worth living. And if she dies doing that, at least maybe she can die feeling like her life was worth something, like all of her wrong-doing had a purpose. To do anything less is vain and empty.

“Then give me rights as an emissary. Let me go to Lexa. Let me try to reason with her. At least try…”

Abby shakes her head and gets to her feet. “Absolutely not, Clarke. If I let you go to them, not only does that remove the element of surprise, but how could I possibly strike against them when it means your life too? How could I refuse them anything they ask when they threaten you? That’s insane, Clarke, and you know it.”

“Mom, this is my choice. If they try to use me against you, then you have to do what you have to do, and it would be my fault, my choice, not yours.”

Abby sits again, pinning her daughter to the bed with her eyes and taking Clarke’s hand in both of her own. 

“Clarke, could you sacrifice me, especially when you don’t have to?”

Clarke has sacrificed herself on many occasions, but that’s easy. Self-sacrifice is a small price to pay when faced with the loss of someone you love. It is a gift gladly given. But the honest truth is that it’s a selfish gift, because at the end of the day, it’s easier to lose your life than it is to lose the people that you love. It’s easier to lose the nameless thousands of Grounders than it is to lose a mother or a friend, at least until you actually have to carry that burden. 

And that’s what she’s asking of her mother. The chances of Clarke successfully backing the Grounders down is one in a million. If the situation was reversed, could she honor her mother’s wish to be a martyr?   
The answer, immediately, is no, but Clarke also knows that she couldn’t look at her mother after that. Some part of her would blame her mother for the burden of her choices. Her love for her mother would be tainted. That love would then be no less intense, but it would be forever, irrevocably, changed, morphed into something almost repugnant. At least if she let her mother go and try, and she lost her mother because of it, the mother that she loves would still be a woman worth loving. 

How can she possibly tell Abby that she would let her die to do the right thing without sounding cold and cruel and uncaring?

“I’d lose you one way or another, mom. Either I let you go and risk your life to your convictions and lose you, or I keep you safe and wipe out an entire race of people, and lose you anyway. No matter what I do, I’m going to lose you one way or another.”

“So that’s it, then,” Abby says. “Either I let you go and lose you or I keep you here and lose you anyway?”

It’s a slow answer, thick and sad, but full of conviction. “Yes.”

“Why,” Abby says pleadingly, drawing the word out as if it has three syllables.

“Because I can’t live with it, mom, especially when it’s just for me. My life isn’t worth all of that pain and suffering.”

“It is to me.”

“I know, and I feel the same way for you, but I’d still let you go, because I’d rather you die being who you are than know that you’re a coward and a murderer. I wouldn’t ask you to live with that. I wouldn’t want you to live with that. And I can’t, mom… I can’t live with anymore death on my conscience…”

It’s quiet in the room and Clarke can see the sheen of tears in her mother’s eyes as Abby realizes that she’s already lost her daughter. Clarke has taken the burden too much and too often to ever be that little girl that she raised again. She’s seen too much of a hard life, lost too much to be whole. She hates this whole situation. And after a few long, tense moments this awareness has a chance to settle into Abby’s shoulders and the thin lines of her face, making her appear infinitely older and desperate, before she finally speaks in a soft, defeated voice. 

“I can’t, Clarke. It’s different when you have children. You can’t decide not to protect them.”

Abby can’t look at her daughter in this moment but it’s her own shame and shortcomings that hinder that connection. She loves her daughter more than anything in this world. She would do anything for her. But she can’t stop being her mother. She is trapped, but there is a swell of pride in her for having raised her daughter with compassion and bravery. If anything, while it scares her to no end, she loves Clarke all the more for being so stalwart, for taking a stand, for trying to do the right thing, even when she truly believes that it will cost her daughter her life. 

“At least now, maybe, you can understand how I was able to let your father be who he was to the point that it cost him his life, even while I had to be who I was and do what I felt was right. But I can’t do that with you, Clarke. I just can’t...”

Clarke hadn’t pieced that one together until her mother had said it, but now, it hits her so hard in her chest that she loses her air for a moment. She does understand, and like the pain of getting her leg pieced back together without anesthetic, some of that hurt towards her mother knits together. She loses some of that anguish and hate for her mother. She understands her mother now, because she realizes that she’d have done the same thing, the only thing, and that would have been what she felt was right, even if someone she loved was on the other side of that equation. Everything that happens can be endured if it’s for the right reasons. She would sacrifice her mother, just like her mother sacrificed her father, if she felt it was the right thing to do. And somehow, the two of them have met in the middle.

But Abby isn’t willing to do that with Clarke.

“Then don’t let me, mom. Just don’t stand in my way either. Do what you think is right, but give me that same courtesy.”

“If I do that, I have to lock you up right now for treason and inform the council.”

Clarke nods and stares down at her lap. “Then I need to be gone before they come for me.”

“I can’t do that, Clarke.”

“I’m not asking you to. I am only asking you to release me from this room. I’ll leave a note when I go, and you can inform the council then. They won’t suspect that you knew prior, and I’ll assume the consequences of my actions.”

She squeezes her mother’s hands. “It’s not your fault, mom. It’s my choice. You can’t make it for me. You can’t stop me from making it. But more importantly, you shouldn’t.”

Abby squeezes Clarke’s hand in return and stands, walking to the end of the bed to retrieve a large boot. She fits it gently to Clarke’s leg with sure, practiced hands as she speaks.

“I had Raven put this together for you. The break to your leg was bad. I wasn’t sure if you would ever be able to walk right again, but the medical facilities here were fully stocked when we arrived. While you were down, I took the liberty of reinforcing the break with plates. It was a small, relatively easy surgery. I just didn’t have the facilities on what was left of the Ark. That’s what this scar is…”

She fingers along the thick, pink line gingerly, the love in her voice making Clarke’s eyes water.

“You can’t run, Clarke, not yet, but with this…,” she tightens the boot into place with the thick straps, thick reinforcements running along the sides and back, all the way over her heel. “It can bare weight now. You should regain full use without the boot in about four weeks.”

Once Abby’s finished putting the boot on, Clarke stands up slowly and carefully, putting her weight on the leg. It’s stiff and sore, her first tentative step wobbly and awkward, but the boot is designed to keep her bones firmly in place, so with a straight-legged limp, she is able to walk rather comfortably.

Abby stands and takes Clarke in a tight embrace. “You’re not allowed to die, do you understand me,” she whispers in her daughter’s ear.

“Yes,” Clarke whispers back just fiercely.

Abby stands back and wipes at her eyes. “Go get something to eat,” she says. “The stuff in those tubes,” she gestures to the area where Clarke was sick, “is designed to keep you alive, but you need a good meal.”

And with that, Abby leaves the room, leaving the door open in a purposeful way as she exits, and Clarke feels a sense of hopeful dread at the tasks to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be sure to rate and leave feedback before moving on.
> 
> All my fic, including other fandoms, is available on my blog. You can follow me on Twitter, Tumblr, and email me via vaginawig@yahoo.com.


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